The Downstairs People
by editor frog
Summary: When the team is in prison, accused of a scandalous crime, they find help in an unlikely place, from people they didn't expect...
1. The Arrival of the Lark

**So while I'm still working out the plot to my first 'trio' story, I decided they needed one more go with the team. Hope you enjoy it, as far as it goes...**

**General Disclaimer: The 'trio' (Chase, Oliver, and Kyle) as well as the people in the Chinese embassy and Josh Hollenbeck, is mine. The other well-known characters, well...not so much.**

* * *

The red parlor walls hung heavy with wonder.

Seven men stared at these bright walls; stared at each other, stared at a teak door that lay as a barrier to the activity inside.

The door creaked open, and a small woman in a white shift hurried through the room towards the hall. The anxiety was building.

"What's going _on _in there?" one of the men asked, the worry evident in his thick voice. "I should go in…"

The other six held him back from the door. "You don't want to be in there, trust me," another said, speaking from experience. "I had three broken fingers when I did…"

The man settled down again, and took up pacing across the large room, nearly wearing a hole in the dark red carpet. A tall glass-paneled liquor cabinet stood on the opposite wall, with large decanters of wine and other spirits standing at the ready.

There was scream, then a low moan.

"Sounds bad," one of the men said.

The others were about to agree when the small woman reappeared, laden down with fresh linens and a small silver bowl. Another woman, this one short and squat with a traditional dress, carried in a large pitcher of water.

"What's that for?" the man with the thick voice asked.

The serving woman said something, but they were not understood. Before they could be asked a second time, they disappeared behind the teak door, closing it tightly behind them.

"This is insane," the thick-voiced man said. "She should be in a hospital…"

"Well, we can't exactly get to one now, can we?" an older gentleman said, his point made without being unkind about it.

"This whole thing is insane," the thick-voiced man said, waving his hands around the room. "None of you did what they say, I know this…"

"And we're trying to prove that," a younger man said, his voice trying to reassure the man. "They're doing all they can in there. I wish things were different too, but…"

"My mother is a very traditional Chinese woman," another young man said, almost apologetically. "Even my father was not allowed in when it was his time to worry."

"What would it hurt, just to go in? Just to see?"

"It would be immodest," another accented voice said, his English strong. "The result is what's best. You must believe this." The encouraging smile on the old man's face was hard to refuse.

"I remember my father telling me about another day," the thick-voiced man said, his eyes focusing on a spot in the floor. "He said there was no happier man in the Quarter, that day. Went down to every bar on Bourbon Street and bought rounds. Had so many cigars sitting on his desk the next morning it took him a year just to get through half of 'em."

"My mother said that my father bought twenty cases of the best wine in New York and gave it away by the bottle," the gentleman said. "Nearly broke him, but it was his first."

There was another shout, and then a striking sound, and then a cry. Seven ears perked up, wondering.

Just then a dark-haired woman hurried out. She barely looked at the men who were waiting with bated breath. She strode to the liquor cabinet, pulled out a portable service for six, pulled out the largest bottle in the cabinet, uncorked it, poured two single shots, gave one to the thick-voiced man, and proceeded to down hers in one gulp.

"Wow," she said as soon as she swallowed. Her voice was strangled as she fought against the strong taste of the wine. She poured another, then five more, then passed them out as she knocked back one more.

"Olivia Larkin LaMontaigne," she squeaked as she tried to swallow the second dose. "Nine pounds, eleven ounces, twenty-seven inches long, and screaming like a banshee. Congratulations, Will."

More congratulations spread as the proud father took in the news from a very unlikely source. "A daughter?" he said.

Just then the teak door opened. A proper looking Chinese woman smiled as she addressed the room full of expectant men. "She is ready," the woman said, her voice accented but clear.

The dark-haired woman sat in a parlor chair as the seven men walked inside, laying eyes on the first bright spot in a world full of trouble. She poured herself a glass of water—she only drank two shots for celebration purposes—and began to worry.

How was she going to get them out of this one?


	2. Moving Day

Hey there--hope you enjoy. Please remember to read and review Ch. 1!

Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.

* * *

_**Seven weeks earlier…**_

* * *

It was a very slow day in the new office. Chase had just managed to direct a team of movers on where to put all the tables, desks chairs, and file cabinets that she'd collected over the years just two days before. The job was more difficult than normal because the only moving company in Campbell, Virginia that Chase would allow to handle all of her things was staffed by a team of people who only spoke sign language.

--Guys, be careful with that!-- she signed forcefully as a pair of movers threatened to drop a Tiffany-style table lamp. –That's not replaceable!—

The movers had simply shrugged, setting the lamp on the pile of furniture that was hastily being brought in from the freight elevator. Chase left the men to their own devices and looked about her new work space. It was an oversized loft; one that had the rickety fire escape and the freight elevator and the large windows allowing the 'trio,' as she now thought of herself and her colleagues, to get a decent view of Postman Ave.

_Onward and upward, Chasie,_ she thought to herself.

"Hey!" a voice called out, sounding like it was being assaulted in the elevator car. Chase ran back from the window to see what the matter was. A slightly tall man with ruffled brown hair was hastily signing something to the movers with one hand while clutching the base of a coat tree in the other. –"You nearly killed me!"—

"Hey, Oliver," Chase called out. "Thankfully, this is the 'B' group. The 'A' group will be here tomorrow to help move the more important stuff."

"Really? 'Cause I'm thinking I could have had some of my buddies at the Bureau move us for a hell of a lot cheaper, Chase," he quipped. "And they wouldn't be trying to knock me over with coat hooks and throwing desk chairs at me while I'm trying to get up here."

Chase shrugged. "Welcome to Campbell."

He grinned. So did she.

"So, how did Ericson take it?" he asked.

"Publicly or privately?"

"Both."

"Publicly, he's sad to see me go. He's glad I'm being kept 'on retainer' for the 'serious emergencies' and told me 'on the record' that I still have a say in how the Institute is run."

"Well, that's something." Oliver made his way to a long mahogany desk that looked like it had seen action in Korea and Vietnam. "And privately?"

"Privately, he's wishing I were vacating the Student Housing Common as well," she said, referring to the area of Campbell where the Institute students lived in townhouses and dorms. "That man has no respect for working with the hearing community. He'd rather we round up all the hearing folk in Campbell and boot them out."

"I'm sure Simon was thrilled to see you leave," Oliver said.

"Oh, the emotion was painted all over her face. You couldn't help but get that _hooray-the-Davis-bitch-is-finally-gone_ vibe off her as I grabbed the last of my files."

Oliver rolled his eyes. He'd worked with Chase and Kyle at the Institute since the pair had hired him some eight months ago, and thought he loved the campus and the faculty, not to mention the students, he was glad Chase had finally decided to break her sideline out of the security office in Mallard Hall. There were board members that were thrilled to have a former FBI agent working at the school, but every time the president of the college came to 'visit,' Oliver felt the temperature in the room fall about twenty degrees.

"I'm sure the board was not as happy?"

"Of course not. They even offered to give us raises to get us to stay. I told them we were flattered, and that we'd still work as a branch of security for the Institute, but that we needed to move on." Chase was twirling a tea bag in her second favorite ceramic mug—her very favorite one _still_ had a hint of a coffee taste from the time she'd let Dr. Reid take coffee in it over at the Stackhouse.

"Good."

There was a crash just outside, echoing off the building walls and causing both Chase and Oliver to leap from their seats and make a mad dash for the window. There, in the middle of Postman Ave., was what looked to be the contents of Oliver's 'junk cabinet' strewn pell-mell all over the street.

"My God," Oliver said, rushing towards the freight elevator.

"Just be glad it wasn't glass," Chase shouted as she followed right behind him.

"Next time, can you let Kyle and me pick the movers? I know he had at least three different ones that might have been better…"

"Yeah, I know. It's just, this place has moved my stuff so many times over the years I kinda thought it'd be like before."

"Obviously not."

"No kidding."

The two stared out towards the scene in the middle of the street, with at least eight movers running out to grab whatever they could. Heaving twin sighs, Oliver and Chase began to help.

"This important?" she called out, holding out a piece of paper.

"What is it?"

"Looks like notes from…oh, wait, yeah, this is important," she said hastily, stuffing the scrap into her pants pocket. "Oliver, don't you have a filing system?"

"Yeah."

"Like what? The old 'toss-it-in-a-notebook' routine?"

"No. I use the same one you do."

Chase looked at him as if he'd told her her nose was painted green. "Which is?"

"I give a copy to Kyle and he files it in a drive somewhere."

"Smartass."

Oliver grinned.

It took about three more hours to clean up the mess and get the rest of the furniture up to the loft. By the time the pair had sent the movers home, it was after twilight.

The next morning, Chase let herself in early, managing to weave her way around the tall cabinets and long tables and bits of miscellaneous furniture in the dark. With a giant box of doughnuts in her hand.

--Joe, you've gotta stop giving us free food,-- she'd signed to Joseph Stackhouse, one of the owners of the most popular café in Campbell. –You'll lose the place in about ten years you keep feeding everyone on the house.—

--Eight, actually, but don't tell Cameron,-- he signed back. –Besides, moving is stressful. You need to eat.—

--I work with Oliver. He can cook.—

--Yes. But _you_ can't.—

--How else are you going to stay in business, Joe?— she'd smiled.

Joseph laughed, waving her off with a free hand. –Go on, get. Lots to do today, and you need to drum up business.—

Even Chase was laughing as she'd walked onto Postman Ave. Everyone in town knew Chase had more working connections and relationships than God himself. No matter the time of year, she, Oliver and Kyle would not hurt for work. They'd just tied up a little affair over in Raleigh a couple of weeks ago, and she knew Andrew was still trying to make contact with her about some little thing the 'agency' wanted…

_Well, life is never dull,_ she'd thought as she made her way towards her new building.

Inside, Chase managed to find a working light and sat the doughnuts on top of a file cabinet. Thankfully, there were no rodents in the building to worry about, so she felt confident enough to leave the pastries on the cabinet as she tried to make her way towards her desk.

About halfway there, the phone rang.

_Now who could that be?_ she wondered, realizing the last thing that Oliver had done before he'd left was to plug in the answering machine and the TTY machine. Though the computers weren't even _close _to being put in yet—Kyle insisted he handle that process himself—they were now able to take clients.

"Trio, Chase Davis speaking," she said, ever the professional.

"Chase?" The person on the other end owned a voice she knew well. Last week she'd taken him for twenty dollars at the Stackhouse over a loner hand.

"Reid?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"Reid, this number went up two days ago. The phones were put in last night. It's seven o'clock in the morning. What is the matter?"

"There's been some trouble…"

"Trouble?" Now Chase was all ears.

"Um, can you come down here? Like, right now?"

"This isn't something you lot can handle yourselves?"

"No…"

"Then how about Josh Hollenbeck? I mean, he still works at the Bureau, right?"

"Yeah, ah, he's trying to help us out, but Chase—it's bad."

"Look, profiler boy. Spill, or I'm going to kick back and eat another doughnut while I'm waiting on the movers. I can't read minds like you all down there." Chase took a seat on the edge of her desk, gnawing on a cinnamon-sugar fry cake.

"Ah, we've been arrested."

"What?" The fry cake that hadn't been chewed went down the wrong pipe in Chase's throat, and she coughed a full minute before she choked out, "Say that again?"

"We've been arrested, all of us. Well, except Garcia—she's still 'unaccounted for,' but…"

"Shut up. Right now. Do not say another word, you understand me? Not to the cops, not to Hotch, not to _anyone,_ got it?"

"Got it."

"Do you have a lawyer?"

"Um, I don't, but I can't speak for everyone else…"

"Never mind. They're getting counsel. I'm bringing in a friend. Tell Hotch if he's there that he can certainly represent himself, but I wouldn't recommend it. And tell _everyone_ that as of right now, they're standing mute. Understand?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Where are you all?"

"Quantico. The basement."

"Oh, shit. They let you have a call?"

"We're not being charged as terrorists…"

"Well, that's a relief. Just hold tight, I'm coming over."

The phone went dead. Chase immediately picked up her cell and dialed a familiar number. "Come on, Oliver, rise and shine," she mumbled half to herself as she closed up the box of doughnuts. _I'll take 'em with me,_ she thought as the phone rang on the other end. _Probably didn't get time for breakfast over there…_

"Oliver," a groggy voice said, picking up the line.

"Oliver, there's trouble. I need you to go over to Garcia's apartment and _wait for her there._ If there's cops, try over at Kevin Lynch's. She can't be found by the cops, understand?"

"Uh, why not?" said Oliver, struggling to figure out what the hell was going on.

"The rest of them over at the BAU just got picked up for something," Chase explained hastily. "I'm going over there now to find out why, and to give them a lawyer."

"Right," Oliver said, quickly shuffling out of bed and grabbing the first things he saw—a pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt. "On it."

"Get a hold of Kyle and tell him to run the fort—we'll be checking in with him throughout."

"Uh huh, got it," Oliver said. He threw on a pair of sandals, hoping his feet wouldn't freeze in the process. A few minutes later he was out the door.

Chase, meanwhile, had one more call to make. "Hello," she said, her voice rushed. "I need to speak with Master Li, as soon as possible…no, the younger. Thank you."

The call was quick. "Mo, it's Chase. I need a favor…"


	3. Accusations

**For those of you just starting this trip, be sure to catch and review Ch. 1 & 2!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

Simeon Robards was _not_ having a good morning.

One of the aspects of his job was to investigate all incidents in which 'questionable practices' were used in investigations, especially when there were fatalities. Normally, the 'practices' were found to be sound and rational.

Normally.

Unfortunately, there was that phone call, some three weeks ago…the one that said a certain group of individuals was responsible for at least three deaths in a siege of a barricaded building in Roanoke, Virginia nearly a month back. That they had 'run a separate agenda' in trying to diffuse the situation, costing innocent lives.

_That's impossible,_ Simeon thought once he heard the names of those accused. _Why on earth would they __do__ something like that?_

But the caller had been insistent. And, naturally, they did not leave a name.

In keeping with procedure, Simeon looked into the case. He looked at the files from Roanoke, spoke with survivors, went over every aspect of the incident he could get his hands on.

And it all pointed at one thing.

That there was a rogue section in Quantico, and they were currently working on the tenth floor.

* * *

In the basement, Reid was standing mute. The last three hours were a complete blur, a whirlwind of activity that was just now beginning to register in his mind.

"Doctor, answer the question!" an agent was snapping at him.

He remained silent. He knew that these charges were ludicrous; that there was something else going on here.

"Fine. You're not going to talk? Maybe someone else will." The agent shoved his chair in, striking the steel table as he threw the door open and exited.

Privately, Reid knew better. He'd managed to tell Morgan and Emily about what Chase had said, but Hotch, Rossi and JJ had already been whisked off to separate interrogation rooms. He knew that at least _they_ would keep silent, and wait until they had more information.

He stared out at the one-way glass, wondering just who was on the other side, watching.

Wondering what was running through that brilliant mind of his.

* * *

"You're telling me you know nothing about these allegations?"

"Look. I don't get out in the field much anymore, obviously. But I'm telling you, there's no way we did any of that out there!" JJ cried, desperately wanting to leap to her feet. The round mass that sat between her chest and her lap, on the other hand, made leaps of _any_ kind a bit difficult at the moment. "Now, do I get my phone call or what?"

"You haven't been charged."

"Not yet, but I'm sure that's coming next."

"We don't have to charge you."

"Is this an act of terrorism?"

"That decision is pending."

"Unh-uh. What that _really_ means is you're weighing your options until you get more information. If you charge us, you have forty-eight hours before you have to file. You want _carte blanche _on this one."

"Miss Jareau…"

"_Agent_ Jareau."

"Not at the moment, you're not."

"Aha. So, 'innocent until proven guilty'…that's just a charade we play around here?"

Suddenly the door swung open behind her. "I'm representing Agent Jareau," a voice said, very professional and businesslike. "Unless you're charging her, we're done. The same goes for her colleagues."

"And you are?"

The man handed over a business card. The agent questioning JJ looked peculiarly at the small piece of paper, but said nothing. "Fine. Right now they're all being charged with conspiracy to commit acts of terrorism, as well as three counts of second-degree murder."

JJ's eyes were wider than dinner plates. She opened her mouth to say something, but the businesslike man held up a hand to silence her.

"Agent Jareau is standing mute, as of this instant. As are her colleagues. One more question, and I'll have you brought up on conduct charges."

The agent's face got redder as his temper flared. "Very well," he said, his voice making it clear that this, whatever _'this' _was, was not over. "Shall I bring in the rest?"

"Yes. I'll need a larger room, one with thick walls," the businesslike man replied. "And of course, a chair."

"Fine. Once you're finished, they're all going to booking. This isn't going away."

"I should hope not. I shall enjoy proving you false."

The agent gave the man the once-over, as if to challenge him. Then, without another word, he left.

As the door closed, JJ turned to the man. "Who _are _you?" she asked, incredulous.

"My name is Mo Li," the man replied. Upon looking at him closer, JJ guessed that he couldn't be much older than Reid was. "I will be representing you, and your friends, at my expense."

"Uh, thanks," JJ said, not knowing what else to say. "But…why? I mean, I can get a lawyer…"

"Yes, but in this case you will require a lawyer with both criminal and international experience. I am certified in both. Plus, I am repaying an old friend by doing this. And it is my pleasure, miss." The man smiled, his warm Oriental-featured face possessing a calming effect on the agent.

"A 'friend,' huh?"

"Yes."

"Do I know this 'friend?'"

"She will be here momentarily," Mo said, looking at his watch. "I imagine she is giving the guards at the front doors hell right about now."

"I bet," JJ said. Suddenly, things weren't looking so bad.

A few minutes later, the door opened. It was the agent who'd been questioning JJ. "If you will, please?" the man said, keeping on his 'best' behavior.

Following Mo's lead, JJ walked out first, followed by the young lawyer. They were led down a series of concrete hallways that had steel doors embedded within them every few feet or so. It seemed like the walk would never end as they turned down one hallway and then another.

"Is something wrong, missing?" Mo asked as JJ walked on, in obvious pain.

"Yeah. My feet," she replied.

"Sir!" Mo snapped. "Will this be much longer?"

"Just down this hall. Last door on the right."

Mo looked at JJ. "I can make it," she said.

"Very well. If you insist."

The look on JJ's face said that she did. Privately, she'd like to kick the agent leading them in a very sensitive area right about now, but kept her professionalism in check.

As they entered the last door on the right, they were welcomed by a sea of familiar and worried faces.

"What the hell is going on here?" asked Rossi, clearly upset and wanting to dress someone down for a few hours. "I come in to work and I get ambushed?"

"Yeah, me too," seconded Morgan, whose angry and confused glare switched between wondering what was going on and wanting to break through a concrete block or something.

"They said something about people dying in Roanoke," Emily offered. "That was, of course, all I got out of them." She looked at Reid. "Thanks for the advice."

"No problem," the youngest agent replied. "But it wasn't mine."

"What? Who were _you_ talking to?" Rossi demanded.

"I got a phone call…"

Hotch said nothing. His eyes perked up, however, the minute Reid mentioned the words 'phone call.' Unlike his colleague, he hadn't been offered that luxury.

"Who were you calling?" Rossi asked.

"I can answer that," Mo piped up. "He called Chase Davis. She, in turn, called me, and here I am, at your service."

"Service? For what?"

"They did not tell you what the charges were?"

Five heads shook back and forth.

"My God," Mo replied. He spewed out a long string of Chinese, and judging by the tone in his voice the team could tell it was not very nice.

"I'll deal with that later," he replied finally, composing himself. "Right now, as it stands, each of you is being held responsible for three deaths in Roanoke about a month prior to today, as well as being held on suspicion of plotting acts of terrorism."

Now three voices began to call out at once. JJ kept silent, as did Reid and Hotch, who simply looked too shocked to say anything—though for Hotch, it took knowing him to be able to discern that. To the untrained eye, he looked as stoic as ever.

"The hell do they think that for?" Morgan demanded. "Acts of…are they crazy?!"

"Obviously something," Rossi demurred. "But why us? I mean, we haven't had any problems…"

"Wait…did you say _Roanoke_?" Emily asked.

"Yes."

"Oh, hell."

Hotch tipped his head once, in agreement. He knew what Emily was getting at.

"Oh."

"Oh."

"Mmm."

"Obviously I'm not getting it," said Mo. "Perhaps if we start from the beginning…"

* * *

The maze of streets in downtown Washington, D.C. was one of the reasons Oliver was glad he'd moved out of the city. It always took forever to get even three blocks away from Point A in a car, and walking four blocks was parallel to taking a life in someone's hands. Either you'd be bored out of your mind, or hope someone didn't make you a target.

The neighborhood where Kevin Lynch lived was of the latter variety. Oliver had casually strolled by Garcia's apartment building, taking notice of the unmarked cars and the half-dozen plainclothes trying to 'blend in' to the fabric of the brownstone community where Garcia lived.

_Guys, why don't you just put a sign up that says "Hey, we're here, just waiting,"_ Oliver thought. _I mean, even a blind man could see through this one…_

Just then there was a buzzing on his phone. It had become Oliver's habit to put his phone on 'vibrate' whenever he was working a Trio job, so as to draw less attention to himself when information came in. He picked up the phone, noticing that there was a chat invitation. Only one person he knew ever used that feature…

He picked up the phone, and sat down on an abandoned step facing the entrance to Lynch's apartment building.

_What's up? _

_--Not much. The place is a wreck._

_We got busy._

_--I heard. Chase left a note._

_You up and running?_

_--In an hour._

_We don't have that kind of time, Kyle._

_--I'm working on it._

Oliver could imagine the exasperation on Kyle's face.

_--I've also got movers to deal with._

_Just make sure they don't break anything, huh?_

_--Very funny._

Oliver noticed two things at he sat on that step—the pass-by of an unmarked car and the emergence of a blonde woman that could be recognized from thirty miles away.

_Garcia's moving. Gotta go._

_--Keep in touch. _

Kyle then signed off. Oliver picked himself up and made to look as inconspicuous as possible using a series of tricks he'd picked up from both Chase and Josh Hollenbeck. His head was held high, but his sunglasses reflected the early summer weather. The sandals he'd tossed on were fine, but his feet still felt cold in them.

_I should've worn socks_, he thought. _Ah well._

Garcia headed towards her prized convertible. Oliver moved quicker. He waited until she was seated in the driver's side, then tossed himself in the passenger seat and looked at her, pulling his shades down momentarily. "Drive, Garcia," he said.

"What the hell?" the woman demanded.

"Now. Just do it. There's a warrant out for your arrest. We're going to pick up my car, but first I need you to look less conspicuous."

"A warrant…what?"

"Drive, Garcia!" The unmarked car was making a turn, as if to make another pass.

Garcia fired up the convertible's engine and floored it, as fast as she dared.

"Don't speed," Oliver warned her. "We don't need any attention…"

"Okay, okay," Garcia replied, almost breathless. Though she recognized the man sitting next to her, it was still a shock. "Let me just go home…"

"Can't go home. There's half a dozen plainclothes waiting for you at the front door."

"Oh my Lord…"

"And before you ask, I'm not sure why," Oliver finished. "Chase got a call from Reid, said the others had gotten arrested this morning as they came in. She going over there with Mo Li to find out what's going on."

"Okay then," the tech replied, grateful that she had brought along 'Guillermo,' her personal and highly prized laptop, on her date the night before. "Where are we going?"

"Someplace safe. Off the radar, at least as far as any of you are concerned."

_There's such a place?_ Garcia wondered as she drove about a mile from her apartment and piled into Oliver's vintage Beetle. She watched as the ancient car turned onto Dupont Circle and began heading for the nearest northern exit out of the city.


	4. What Happened in Roanoke?

**Please remember to read and review the previous chapters!**

**See disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

"It was a nightmare," Rossi said.

"I'm certain that it was," replied Mo, still trying to understand the reason why a seemingly 'routine' case for these people could have gone so horribly wrong. "But I still don't quite understand…"

"People with that kind of delusion are never going to stop," Morgan explained. "These people really believed that killing innocent bystanders would only make their cause more just."

"Sounds to me like the mindset of suicide bombers," Mo countered. "Or people in my country that immolate themselves to prove their point."

"Yeah, but it's more than that," Rossi said. "When it's one person, you can stop the delusion by either catching them or killing them—and the former is always more preferable."

"Okay. So, delusional people take over a building…"

"Not just any building," Reid piped up. "It was one nearest to a historic site—the one where they believe those English people went missing some four hundred years ago."

"You have missing people now too?"

"Well, this was back when this country was being colonized…"

"Ah. Not something I should worry about, then."

"Virginia Dare isn't coming back anytime soon," JJ quipped.

Mo let it go. "So, this building…"

"Yeah," Hotch continued. "It's a government building now, combination federal courthouse and post office. These people picked a Friday to lay siege to the place, when post offices are generally busiest."

"Trying to get everything out before Monday," Emily said, noticing Mo's quizzical look. "When we got there, there were about, what, nineteen people inside, not counting the federal employees?"

"Thirty eight, all told," JJ replied.

"Plus our unsubs," Reid added.

"Now, that term I'm not familiar with," Mo said. "You mean to tell me you didn't know who was holding the people inside the building?"

"Not a clue," Morgan replied. "Usually situations like that make our job a little easier, because they've told us who they are—but this time, it was like someone outside of that building was pulling the strings."

"Yeah. Did that seem strange to any of you?" Rossi asked. "I mean, I've seen people go in when they had little voices in their heads telling them what to do, but this…this wasn't like that."

"Too methodical." Hotch was softening a bit, realizing that despite the conditions, it was another meeting in the conference room. "This wasn't the work of zealots looking to 'find' a 'lost race'."

Mo let that go too, for the moment. "So, people looking for others who've been dead for about four hundred years took over a federal building…"

"And we got called in to get inside their heads," Emily finished.

"Is that unusual? Because I would think that a SWAT team or an HRT unit would be better suited for that kind of event," Mo said, not criticizing them but the question evident.

"It is, and they were," Rossi replied. "But there was the fact that these people were spouting gibberish and flying off the handle the second they took it over. Mostly, in hindsight, I think the initial theatrics were just for show."

"Mmm."

"Like I said, I think someone else was behind that bombing," the older man finished.

"That's the other thing that puzzles me. In these files they're claiming there was a bombing, in others they're saying the people were shot."

"A bomb _did_ go off, a midsized one," Morgan pointed out, his explosives background kicking in. "It was enough to cause some injuries, maybe kill the person right next to it when it went off it the shrapnel flew just right, but it couldn't have done as much damage as we saw…"

"Then how do you explain it?"

Morgan shrugged. "There's something out there that can look like a small bomb, but have the impact of a large one, maybe? I'm not entirely up-to-date on what the new explosives are out there, but I try to keep up."

"And there's the possibility that it was handmade," a voice said behind him, coming in through the door. It turned and shouted over the threshold, "I found 'em!" Then, in a half-tone, it added, "No thanks to you lot…"

"Handmade?"

"Are we forgetting that little fiasco about a year ago?" Chase said, giving each one of the team members the once over. Looking at a shadow that passed by the frosted glass window, she spat "God, I'd like to beat that man Adlington out there with a rock."

"Good luck with that one," Emily quipped. "I don't think it'll help much."

"I'm still confused on what the other agents on site might have seen as an 'agenda,'" Mo said, gently steering the conversation back to the pressing points at hand. "It sounds like they called you in so they could get a better idea of what they were dealing with."

"Yeah, but the SAC, he was not _terribly_ receptive to us being there," JJ recalled. "Took me the better part of four hours to convince him that we'd actually been called at all, and then was grudging about our involvement when we finally convinced him. If I were looking for a starting point, I'd look into him."

"Why him?"

"I've dealt with people that didn't really want our help—you know, the ones that get 'told' they're calling us in rather than it being their idea. There's a case in Kansas that can give you some insight on that…"

Mo took down the file number on that particular case.

"…but still, most people try to let us do our jobs," Morgan added. "These guys? I think if they could have just stormed the place, they would have. I don't know where they came from, or what office they're out of, but I'm telling you, it was like dealing with a unit of people on the take or something."

"Morgan!" More than a few voices replied in kind. It wasn't like him to say something like that…

"I don't know, guys…it's just the feeling I get."

"Never knock your feelings on things," Chase replied. "You'd be surprised how many times you're right about them."

"The upshot of the whole thing is, three people ended up dead, and there were other minor injuries. Most of the trauma in that building was the kind you don't see," Hotch summed up.

Both Mo and Chase knew what he was getting at.

"Well, seems we have our work cut out for us," Mo said.

"I know I've made a few calls. Thank God for the barter system," Chase said.

"The barter system?" Reid asked.

"I'm calling in a lot of favors to get extra help on this one. The three of us can't do it ourselves…"

"Where's Garcia?" JJ suddenly blurted out, clapping a hand over her mouth as she did so.

The room fell silent a full minute before Chase whispered, "Somewhere safe, I hope. I'm calling Oliver the second I get out of here."

Five minutes later, the agent that had dogged JJ—Adlington—was back. "Time to go," he said, the hint of superiority evident in his tone.

"Where are they being taken?" Chase asked.

"And you are?"

"Working for defense counsel," Chase said flatly. "I'd be that broad you tried to toss out about an hour ago?"

"I don't have to release that information…"

"Bullshit. If not to me, then to him," she retorted, pointing at Mo. "Leave the lawyer out of the loop, and you've given them a_ wonderful_ technicality to hang _your_ ass on. I sincerely hope you continue to fuck up in this fashion—it's making my job a _whole _lot easier…"

"Fine." Adlington turned towards Mo and said, "They're being sent to Philadelphia for processing and reception. I assume you know the way there?"

"I can find it. They're still standing mute."

"Process should take about a week."

"I'm aware."

"Fine then. You lot, move," Adlington barked, his eyes dancing over the team as they filed out.

As the door fell shut, Mo and Chase followed behind their clients. Chase privately wanted to say a few things to Adlington, preferably with a loaded .22, but remained silent. When the party came up to the end of the hall, the team was led to the left while Mo and Chase were escorted to the right.

"Chase?" JJ called out.

"I know," she said, already knowing what the woman was going to say. "I'll call him. And make arrangements in Nevada, too."

When the large steel door fell shut, separating the accused from their advocates, Chase let out a huge sigh.

"We've got our work cut out for us," she said, echoing Mo's feeling from earlier.

"Yes. But it's not impossible."

"That's true. Now, I have to go make a phone call…"


	5. Northbound

**Hey all. Please remember to read and review the previous chapters!**

**See disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

The ancient Beetle felt like it had been driving in circles for hours. Garcia was beginning to get dizzy just trying to keep up with the twists and turns that Oliver was taking at near-breakneck speeds, and at least once on this trip she was absolutely certain the old car didn't roll over on itself after a sharp turn out of sheer determination on Oliver's part.

"Oliver, before you kill me, would you _please_ tell me what's going on?" she pleaded. "Why are there cops outside my apartment? Why can't I go to work? Where _is_ everybody?!"

The young man sighed. "Can it wait until we get there?"

"Where the heck is _there_?!"

A grove of pine trees flew past.

"Just a little longer, Garcia, I promise."

"Look. Either you tell me, or I'm getting on this phone and reporting this car as stolen," the tech warned. "I'm serious…"

Oliver reached over, deftly snatched the phone out of her hand, tossed it out the window, and just barely missed a giant rock that had fallen off the side of a mountain and landed in the middle of the highway.

"Oliver!"

"Garcia, I'm going to say this again: _there is a warrant out for your arrest,_" he said, placing a lot of emphasis on the latter part of that sentence. "You call from your phone…"

"…and they'll trace it right to us. I know. You think the all-knowing tech goddess here doesn't know that?"

"Penelope, the rest of the team is in _prison_, right _now_, on charges that we're trying to pinpoint," Oliver tried yet again to explain. "And the cops and the feds are looking for _you_ to join them. You do something you need to go to prison for?"

Garcia's eyes grew wide. "Charges for what?"

"Chase hasn't called back yet, but she will. They're down there, trying to get to the bottom of this." The car swerved as a semi tried to negotiate the steep curve.

"Oliver! Slow down!"

"Almost there…" he replied, his eyes searching for some sort of landmark. He quickly turned onto a dirt path that was well hidden from the view of passing traffic.

Garcia looked around at the plethora of trees in bloom, with steep pines and tall elms and oaks making the sky look just a bit darker than it really was—even despite the fact that she had been in the car for nearly five hours.

Just then a small house pulled into view. It was certainly bigger than a cabin, but not quite the size of a house. A large barn sat next to it, well-kept and neat, and the house looked as if no one had been there in months.

"Who owns this place?" Garcia asked as she stepped out of the Beetle, trying to work the stiffness and cramps out of her legs. Oliver had driven non-stop from D.C., and when he'd had to stop for gas had pulled into the smallest and most remote places Garcia had ever seen.

"Josh," Oliver said, as if the name were enough.

"Josh…"

"Hollenbeck? My old boss?"

"Oh, him. He know we're here?"

"Lord, I hope not. I think he's all but forgotten about this place. I was the last one up here, almost a year ago—Josh hates to come up here."

"Then why…"

"Because every once in a while his doctor tells him he needs fresh air. He bought the place for his wife, mostly, who loved it—came up every chance she got."

"What happened?" Garcia knew there was more to this story.

"There was an accident, just coming up the mountain. She, ah…"

"Oh."

"I don't think he's been up here since."

"Oh."

"Anyway, the place is lighted and there's running water, but no computer or television. I think there's still some wood left from the last time, and I'll get a fire started."

"Okay." Garcia picked up 'Guillermo' and made her way into the small house, tossing her lone bag from her date the night before in on of the two bedrooms the space had to offer.

_Oliver's a decent housekeeper,_ she thought as she began to give herself the self-guided tour. _I mean, aside from the dust, you'd think no one ever left…_

There was a small kitchen table sitting opposite a wall-sized fireplace, and a walkway that separated the actual 'kitchen' from the rest of the living area. There was a stove, and a refrigerator, as well as a set of cupboards that looked like they'd been painted in the last year. Off to the side lay the hallway that housed the two bedrooms, both furnished with king-sized beds and quilts, and the bathroom lay at the end of the tiny hall, its shower curtain looking like it had been replaced recently.

"Hey, get the door?" Oliver called out. Garcia hurried over and held it open, allowing the young man to pile a large stack of wood near the fireplace. He busied himself with setting a small pile of old newspaper on fire, touching it to the dry, stacked pieces of wood lying in the fire grate.

"You've invested in this place," she remarked.

"Huh?"

"New paint, new shower curtain…you said Josh hasn't been up here in years."

Oliver blushed a little. "Oh, um, yeah. I spent some time up here late last year…after Sarah…"

"Oh." Garcia remembered that incident. She still felt like there was something she could've done to stop it…

"It's okay. She's still there, you know? But, onward and upward, as Chase always says."

"Chase," Garcia said, parroting the word. "Does this place get cell reception?"

"Yeah, if you know what you're doing," Oliver replied. "I mean, it's not easy, but it _can _be done…"

Garcia whipped out 'Guillermo' and opened 'him' up out on the table. "Then let's get to work. And, about those charges…?"

"Yeah," Oliver said. "All I know is that Reid called Chase while she was at the new office, told her it was pretty serious. I was just about to touch base with Kyle and then try and get a hold of Josh, see what he knows…"

"You do that," she said. "I'm gonna get 'him' up and running."

Oliver left the tech to her own devices, but gave her a very stern warning about masking her IP's and not staying on anything for too long, though privately he wsnt quite sure _how_ she was going to connect anyway. Garcia had waved him off with a hand, clearly getting the message but shaking her head as though it was something that didn't have to be said.

Outside, down in a shallow point near the base of the driveway, he pulled out his cell phone. It was more receptive than most phones—it would work in the middle of the Sahara, he'd been promised by the sales rep who'd sold it to him—and so far, in the nine months he'd owned it, it hadn't let him down. He pulled out the tiny keyboard and sent out a chat invitation.

_--Hey._

_I need to know what you know._

_--Where are you?_

_Not now. Maybe later. Can't stay on long._

_--Chase says they're being charged with three counts of second degree murder, plus one count each of conspiring to commit acts of terrorism. It's bad._

_No shit, Sherlock._

_--You asked, Holmes._

_She bringing in help on this one?_

_--Yeah. Couple of Ukrainian friends, a Russian chick and some Brazilian guy. Met the Ukrainians, they're decent. _

_Heavy hitters?_

_--More like eyes on the ground, for now. They're being sent to Philadelphia._

_Jesus._

_--No kidding. Signing off._

The phone went blank. Kyle was still the best at what he did—he knew to keep things under three minutes if there was a worry about being tracked.

He then pulled up another menu, accessing his email. He sent a note to Josh; one that only the older man would understand.

_Josh:_

_Heard about the new people, how're they? _

_Figured out about Sarah, though I'm not sure about her things yet. What to do?_

He signed it _Hamlet. _It was an old joke of Josh's—his favorite Shakepeare play was about the doomed Danish prince, but he man best known for playing him, Laurence Olivier, had Oliver's name in reverse. It was a coincidence that still brought a chuckle to Josh's lips every now and again.

_Conspiracy to commit acts of terrorism? Who the hell is behind __this__ one? _he wondered as he made his way back into the small house to break the news to Garcia. Hopefully, she could fill in a few blanks…


	6. Danger Lurks

**Please remember to read and review previous chapters!**

**See disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

"Where are they?!"

"Will, right now they're being taken to Philadelphia. Processing. There's nothing I can do about that."

The Southern Frenchman looked extremely worried. "She's almost due," he said, the worry evident. "Next week she'll hit nine months…"

"Look, this much I know—they'll be put in isolation, for starters…"

"I know, because they're cops."

"Okay then."

"Doesn't mean they're safe."

"I know that too. I have some people looking in on that."

"And what does _that _mean? '_Some people?' _Will's eyes were like lightning bugs, twinkling faster the more worried he got.

"JJ told you anything about me?"

"Something about how you seem to know more people than the President," he said.

"Yeah, and they all like me better." Chase smiled, though there was no mirth in it. "I promise, I am doing _everything_ I can."

"But you're still here! Whoever is doing this…"

Chase waved her hand at a stack of files. "I made them tell me about all the cases they've worked together—I understand there were some 'personnel' changes a couple of years ago…"

"She said something like that once." Will picked up a file, the detective in him growing restless. "What am I looking for?"

Chase grabbed one herself and settled on Josh Hollenbeck's desk. Because of the sheer distance between Quantico and her own office, she decided to stop in and take over a free space from the older agent.

"And what trouble 'ave you gotten Oh-lee-vair eento thees time, eh?" Josh had asked the second she came onto the floor.

"You've heard about the situation on ten?"

"Of course," Josh said in that strange accent of his. "Eet ees preposterous, yess…seemply preposterous."

"Can I count on you, Josh? Can Oliver?" She'd flashed a warm smile, hoping it might help her case.

"You know they air trying to get me to look eento thees case," he warned. "They air claiming terrorism ees afoot…"

"Bullshit."

"Yes. Thees ees what I tell them. I 'ave 'ad thee opportunity to work with these peeple on ten, several times since then," Josh agreed, remembering when he'd met 'the peeple on ten,' as he called them . "Eef they were to plot such a thing, cairtantly no one would be the wisair."

"Yeah. They scare even me sometimes," Chase said.

This was how Chase and Will LaMontaigne found themselves holed up in one of Josh's interrogation rooms on the fourth floor—one in which the one-way glass had been blocked. "I do not need that 'orrible Adlington coming een, demanding to see," he said simply. It seemed Adlington was a gnat in everyone's ear, one people were only to happy to help swat away.

"What about him, anyway?" Chase asked. "He's new, obviously…"

"Yess. Only a year. But een that time, he 'as made several eemportant discoveries, caught several peeple that 'ave been…'ow you say? 'Dairty?'"

"That's it."

"_Ces't bon."_

"What are you thinking about, Chase?" Will asked as he looked up from the paperwork. He'd heard snippets of the conversation, but was now only noticing the silence.

"I'm thinking about this guy Adlington."

"'ow so?" Josh asked, fiddling with yet another file in his hands.

"He's been here a year, but yet he seems to have more pull around here than _I _do in my line of work," she mused. When she got two slightly puzzled stares, she said, "Never mind. Put another way: this guy's running roughshod on this investigation, and he seems to have one flaw—he's making a case to fit certain people, rather than actually looking _into_ the case itself."

"You're sayin' he's trying to frame them?" Will asked.

"I'm saying in the 1950s it wasn't uncommon to close a case by picking someone you didn't particularly like or 'thought' was guilty and making the facts fit to implicate them. Looks like Adlington is from that particular school of thought, at least to me."

"You'd be surprised," Will remarked. "I know down in the Quarter we had cops doing that on a daily basis, especially after Katrina. Hell, the storm made their jobs a lot 'easier,' if you catch me…"

"Mmm," said Josh. "I weel pull more eenformation on thees Adlington pairson."

"Send what you find over to my office. I'll give you the address," Chase said, pulling out a scrap of paper and scribbling down her business email address. "That'll be an encrypted line, so you can tone down the code a bit…"

Josh smiled. "Thees 'premeair pairsons,' I am not leairning theair ways as fast as some." He shrugged. "_Ces't la vie_…"

As soon as the door slammed, Will let out a sigh. "I want to see them," he said.

"You can't. Only their lawyer can."

"Lawyer—she doesn't _have _a lawyer…!"

"Yes, she does. They all do. A very close friend of mine is working on the paperwork there as we speak. He's as dumbfounded at these allegations as I am."

Will stared at her with wonder. "Who _are _you? Jason Bourne?"

Chase allowed herself a chuckle. "Jason Bourne can eat his heart out," she laughed. "That man doesn't have anything over me, but, like him, I am fallible. Let's just say I have an interesting line of work."

Will shook his head, and began poring over the next file. There did seem to be an awful lot of them…

* * *

Garcia had never been a pasta freak, but she had to admit that mixing hamburger and zucchini in spaghetti sauce was one of the better ideas she'd seen all day. Pour _that _over penne pasta, and…

"Wonderful," she said as she cleared the table.

Oliver looked chagrined. "It's certainly better than what everyone else is eating tonight."

Both faces fell for a moment, thinking of what was happening in Philadelphia.

Just then Oliver's phone vibrated. "Hang on," he said, stepping outside for a moment.

As Oliver took his call, Garcia looked around the tiny space. In the dark, with the firelight crackling, it would almost be a perfect place to hide…particularly with a certain computer tech with horn-rimed glasses…

Garcia shook the thought out of her head. _Focus,_ she said. _Gotta get out of this before any of __that__ can happen._

The sound of the door slamming startled the tech, causing her to cry out a little.

"Sorry," Oliver said. "You got 'him' fired up?"

"Yeah…"

Oliver plugged in his phone to her computer. She'd devised a modem of sorts from what random computer parts had been in her bag, and within twenty minutes 'Guillermo' was connected and flying across the internet.

"What first?" Garcia asked, ever the professional.

"I've got mail," Oliver said, the attempt at a joke obvious. Garcia got into the Trio system and began sifting through dozens of emails about various things that made no sense to her at all—some of it wasn't even in _English_, for the love of God—and finally found the file Oliver was looking for.

"Who's Robert Adlington?" she asked.

"Apparently a pain in Chase's ass," Oliver said. "Looks like he's also the guy in charge of the investigation into all of you."

"_Something's not right about this guy—he's too eager to close the case,_" Garcia read. _"What's he hiding?"_

The tech noticed that something had been attached—a second email, this one from Josh Hollenbeck.

"_Oliver—these are the files Miss Davis was looking for," _Oliver read. _"I am in agreement with her, as well as the Southern Frenchman—this man Adlington is not what he seems. These should help. Josh._

"Southern Frenchman?" Oliver asked.

"Probably Will," Garcia said. "JJ's boyfriend, the father of her baby, and a former New Orleans detective."

"Aha."

The two downloaded the files quickly—or as quickly as they could for being in the middle of nowhere—and set to work. Garcia's mind kept wandering to Philadelphia, where she knew nothing good was happening to her friends and colleagues.

* * *

The sound of her phone going off startled the hell out of Chase. She rubbed her eyes open and looked at the hotel clock—it was almost seven-thirty in the morning, and she hadn't left Josh's office until after four.

"This better be magnificent," she said into the phone, not even bothering to look at the caller ID display on her phone.

"Chase?" a voice said, its accent turning the 'c' sound to an 's.'

"I'm up. What?"

"There has been incident, Chase."

"How bad?"

"Could have been worse. She gone to infirmary, but…"

"Which one?"

"Someone tried to attack the little one. Her friend and I, we try to stop this."

"Fucking hell," Chase spat. "She didn't…"

"Oh, wait…" Chase held for a minute. "Is okay. Looks, how you say, 'shallow'?"

"Superficial. The baby's all right?"

"Hold." Chase held for another minute. "Yes. She is talking to friend—the little one, they are both fine. She and her baby."

"Thank God. What about the attacker?"

"Dead. I will look into this," the voice said. "You were right. Someone is not taking chances."

"Thanks, Anya. I owe you."

"Meh, is nothing. I talk later." she replied before Chase heard her being told to hang up.

_Shit,_ she thought. _Not even twenty-four hours and already someone's trying to kill one of them?_

_Course, it could just be an attack of jealousy on the part of the other inmates in there, _ she reasoned. _That's why pregnant women are put in isolation…_

_Still, an attack in isolation?  
_

_And their trial won't be for at __least__ six months, more likely a year…hell, it's taking a __week__ to formally process them!_

The light sprung on in Chase's head. It was a dim light, but one she needed to look into.

_I just hope the guys are faring better,_ she thought.

And that's when the phone rang again.


	7. In the Recess of Night

**Thanks for the reviews! They really make my day! :)**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

Petr Bossonova had seen a lot during his years with foreign intelligence. He'd gone into Russian prisons that few men ever walked out of and found evidence to close cases. He'd snuck intelligence across borders from Romania, Estonia, Belarus and Turkmenistan without being spotted. He'd even helped to save a few people from a planned 'hit' or two, purely because the designated target was wanted by the government for 'something else.'

But this? This was something else entirely.

There hadn't been too many instructions when he'd been gotten the call to go to the Federal Detention Center in Philadelphia—merely that there was a group coming in that afternoon to be placed in the isolation block, and he needed to get on it. His 'paperwork' looked genuine enough, and that was how he found himself painting walls as four men were led in, freshly 'showered' and dressed in the customary orange.

He'd studied the faces carefully, remembering the scant descriptions his American friend had provided him with.

_One statue, one gentleman, one dark, and one lost,_ he'd said to himself as he continued 'painting' as if there were no other job in the world. He 'didn't look' as each one of the four were placed in separate cells, two on the left and two on the right. Petr knew there were seven people now on the block—himself, the four newcomers, and two men that didn't look like they needed protection all that much, though he knew well that looks could be deceiving.

"_Something's not right about this, Petr," _his friend had said. _"It's all happening way too fast…"_

"_Then I will find out why," _he'd promised.

"_I know you will, and I thank you for it. But really, I need to know what happens in the next couple of days. It doesn't usually take a week to process inmates…"_

"_There are how many?"_

"_Four for you to worry about. Anya has the other two." _His friend had given them the descriptions of the newcomers. _"I don't like this."_

"_We will see," _Petr had said before cutting his communication. Deep cover was one of the things he did best, and he wasn't about to get blown now…

He continued to paint as he heard the newcomers talking. Keeping his eyes on the walls and his ears focused on the four cells towards the end of the hall, he tried to listen in.

"This is ridiculous," one of them said. "How many cases have we worked where things didn't go the way they were supposed to?"

"More, I'm sure, than I care to count," chimed in another. "And that's not counting the ones we worked _before_ we all started working for the BAU…"

"You're saying this could be personal?"

"I'm saying I wouldn't rule it out."

"Guys, the probability of us all making the same person mad at different points in our lives or our careers is just…astronomical."

"What, no statistic?"

"It's just…not probable!"

"So we're back to the same question: why us, and why now?" Petr liked this voice. It was clean, smooth, and no-nonsense. He dared a look into the cell it had come from, and found the statue owned it. Petr thought it fitting.

"It's not like there's much we can do about figuring that out though, Hotch," a voice from across replied.

"Really." That was the gentleman's voice.

"In here?!"

"Well, think about it this way—there's only about, what, a couple dozen cases we've all worked on since I came back…"

"About one hundred and ninety-six," the youngest of the four replied.

"A hundred and ninety-six cases? What do you, keep count?"

"Well, we average about seven or eight a month, times about fourteen months since Rossi came back…and that's not including the ones we've just looked over the files and made a phone call to…"

"Forget I asked."

"Does she have copies of all those?"

"The lawyer put in a subpoena for them. I think she'll probably get Josh Hollenbeck to fast-track those to her to look through."

"Good choice. I'd like to see that guy Adlington try and railroad _him._"

"What do we know about him, anyway? Adlington, I mean?" the gentleman asked. "I mean, I've seen him around, but I thought a guy named Robards looked into suspicious cases…"

"He does," the statue—Hotch, apparently—replied. "And he's pretty thorough about it as well. I don't know how this Adlington got this case…"

"Are they looking into him?"

"I hope so." From a far left cell came a discontented sigh. "Well, here we are, and we're stuck."

"For now, anyway. That lawyer Chase got us, he's pretty smart…"

"He'll be alright," the young voice said. "When I met him that time at the hospital, he couldn't be intimidated or shaken. I don't think they'll, ah, _railroad_ him either."

"But why a week? Now, I've been doing this a long time, and in Chicago before that…it doesn't take a week to process six people!"

"No, it doesn't," Hotch said. "At most it takes about forty-eight hours, and that's if there are questions about protection or legal counsel. Worst-case scenario is seventy-two, and that's _after_ arraignment."

"Yeah. That was the fastest arraignment I've ever seen. They barely gave us time to show up or even put in our pleas…"

"I'm telling you guys, something's not right about this!"

The last sentence was enough to bring in the guards. "Hey, keep it down in there!" the man called out. "You wanna try your cases, do it in court, not on my block!"

Four voices fell absolutely silent. Petr kept painting, though he was trying to take as long as possible.

"Hey, you with the brush, keep at it," another guard called out as he walked down the lone hallway. "Place isn't gonna paint itself."

"Yes, sir," Petr said, his slight Ukrainian accent barely noticeable. For this particular job, he needed to be inconspicuous.

The rest of the afternoon and evening were still. Petr finished his painting; the other inmates came back from their jobs and were put on lockdown for the night. It wasn't until the wee hours of the morning that something didn't sound right to the trained intelligence agent.

"Come on, now…don't be shy…"

There was a bit of a whimper. Petr lie on his cot, trying to pinpoint where that voice was coming from.

"Cute little thing, ain't he?" another voice said. This voice, as well as the first, was not one he'd heard on the block yet. These were new.

Another whimper, could have been a sob.

"Doesn't like that, he doesn't," the first voice said, dripping with mock gentleness.

"Don't…" Now Petr sat upright. It was the young voice.

He crept to the bars of the cell, trying to get a better look. He could just see the inside of the youngest man's cell, could see the two tall, well-built frames standing over the prone figure, forcing him on his stomach.

"Hmm. Seems a little loose…" one of them said. It was the one nearest the door.

Petr heard something cutting, heard the tearing of fabric threads as they snapped one by one…

"Hey!" another voice said. It was the man laying in the cell across from the young one—the dark man. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Oho, a visitor," the man lying next to the young man said. "You wanna watch?"

Petr covered his ears as the dark man screamed as loud as he could, rattling the bars in their tracks and trying to force the door open.

"Morgan! What the hell!" the gentleman called out.

"Open this door! Right now, open it! Reid, just…just hold on…I swear to God, you son of a bitch…"

One of the men deftly threw open the bars on the opposite cell, dragging the dark man out of the tiny space as he fought and tried to lash out at his attacker. A shiny object flashed, and it made the man stop fighting.

"Now, you can watch, or you can go first," the man with he knife said. "Entirely up to you, but now you're in."

The dark man—Morgan—screamed as loud as he could.

He managed to cause his other compatriots to call out too, and Petr joined in the fray. Part of his cover, after all, plus he knew what was about to happen…

"What in the sam hell is going on in here?!" the block warden asked, bringing in no less than eight guards to quell the miniature riot. "What is the _matter_ with you people?!

When the lights went on, there was no one there. Morgan was sitting in a cell not his own, and the younger man was lying motionless, as if one twitch could bring his assailants back. Petr was mystified. Where had the two men who had brought this trouble gone to?

"What the hell are you doing out?" the block warden demanded, staring at Morgan as if he'd tried to escape. "I know damn well you were over _there_ at lights-out."

Morgan tried to explain himself, telling the warden what had happened.

"Someone tried to do _what?_ To _who_?

The younger man still lay on his stomach, and Petr got a better glimpse of what had happened—the assailants had attempted to literally _cut_ the orange jumpsuit off of their intended victim. Half of the top part and just a bit into the seat were as wide open as one of those confounded buns for little sausages that his cousin Anya liked to eat.

"Well, there's no one in here! No one except the seven of you!"

Everyone began looking down the hall. There was an access door, but it locked from both the inside and outside. However, the assailants had had a key to let Morgan out of his cell, and allow themselves into the younger man's…what was to say that they didn't have one for the access door as well?

"Come on, back you go," the warden said, having Morgan lifted from his spot on the floor and tossed back into his cell.

"Wait!" Morgan cried.

"What? You hurt or something?"

"No, my friend, in there," Morgan said, trying to be reasonable. "He needs to be looked at…"

The block warden went in, taking in the sight of the younger man's clothes and physical state. "You all right?" he asked, perturbed but not harsh-like.

There was a soft shake of a head. He didn't dare move.

"It's all right, there's no one here."

"How is he?" the statue man—_Hotch,_ Petr kept reminding himself—asked.

The block warden didn't answer. Instead, he laid his hand gently over the young man's bare shoulder—the section of cloth that had been torn away and left open. The figure beneath him shied away from the touch.

"I'm not going to hurt you, okay? I need to see…"

Petr saw the young man try to burrow farther into himself, trying to stay away from the prying eyes.

"Please, let me," Hotch asked. "Maybe I can…"

"If there's anyone who can, it's him," Morgan seconded. "Please…"

The block warden tried one more time, but got no response. He knew _something_ had happened to this kid. He'd been on the job for a lot longer that the kid had been living, he guessed, and he could spot a fake when he saw one.

_This_ was no fake.

Petr could feel the collective relief when the block warden opened Hotch's door. "Hurry up," he said.

Nodding once, Hotch went inside and asked if he could sit down. The younger man said nothing, but didn't shy away when the man put a hand on his shoulder.

"Reid, I need you to tell me—what happened?"

"I-I'm fine, Hotch. Really."

"Reid." That no-nonsense tone that Petr really liked.

"I'm fine." The younger man—Reid, apparently—allowed his head to lift from the thin cot. "They didn't hurt me."

"Can we let them take you to the infirmary, just to make sure?"

It was obvious to Petr that that was the _last _thing he wanted. However, he slowly nodded his head.

The block warden called over two of the guards. The 'miniature riot' had desisted nearly twenty minutes ago. "Take him over to the infirmary. No one lays a hand on him that doesn't need to be, am I clear?!"

The guards both nodded, their professionalism evident. They waited for Reid to stand of his own accord, and then led him off the block and to the isolation infirmary.

"Now how did he…?" the block warden could be heard mumbling to himself as he too made sure things were as they should be. Once the warden and the guards were out of earshot, Petr's ears were flooded with worried voices.

"What the hell was that?" the gentleman asked.

"I don't know," Hotch admitted. "I haven't seen him like that since Georgia…"

"That was messed up," Morgan spat. Petr could hear the sound of heavy breaths as the man in the cell next to him tried to control his temper. The sound of flesh striking steel didn't help matters any.

"You want them back here?"

"Does it matter? Someone got inside, Rossi—got inside and tried to…"

"I know."

"You know?"

"Like you said, not much we can do about it here, except watch each other's back…"

_And let me watch the rest,_ Petr thought.

"Try and get some sleep," Hotch called out, his own voice full of worry.

"No way. Someone needs to be up, when Reid gets back."

"Go to sleep, Morgan. I'll stay up."

"Hotch…"

"Can't have two people falling asleep. You'll have to cover for me tomorrow."

"You sure?"

"Get some sleep."

As soon as it was daylight, there was the usual line up for head count and then breakfast.

Afterward, Petr resumed his painting job, but was certain to ask to make a phone call.

"To who?"

"My sister," Petr lied easily. "It's her birthday."

As soon as he was able to reach a phone, he dialed a certain number that was on the 'approved call' list.

"Chase? It's Petr. Some news…"


	8. Morning After

**Thanks for the lovely reviews! I really enjoy them! And thanks to T for the beta!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

"Mo, there's trouble."

"No kidding. I just spoke with the judge handling this case."

"You know?"

"That they're going to continue to be remanded to custody? Yeah. That arraignment was a joke. I tried to arrange for bail for all of them, or at least Miss Jareau—her condition and all…"

"You don't know? No one called you?!"

"About what?"

Chase filled the lawyer in on what had happened in Philadelphia.

"My God," Mo said, his normally sunny face now threatening to spit lead. "How did these people get access?"

"My girl inside isn't sure, but thinks someone slipped a key out. Apparently it was supposed to look like a fit of rage on the part of the attacker."

"On a pregnant woman?"

"It's more common than you'd think. As for the guys, my man there says he's _certain_ these people were slipped keys. Too many doors were opened for them not to have any."

"How is Dr. Reid?"

"As far as my man can tell, pretty shaken up. I would be too."

"I'm going back in to the judge with this," Mo declared. "What good is it to prepare for a trial that's obviously not supposed to take place?"

"Kinda what I was thinkin'," Chase agreed. Then she looked at Mo. "_Do not_ tell Det. LaMontaigne about this."

"Would he not want to know?"

"It's not that. That man's wound tighter than a Swiss watch right now, and this isn't gonna help. Besides, there's really nothing he can do. Nor any of us, it seems."

"A week for processing…" Mo said, nearly cutting of every word as he spoke. "More like a week to kill them, one by one."

"Dead people make the greatest fall guys."

"I'm really not sure I want to know how you know that…"

"Someone told me that once."

"Court doesn't open until nine, and it's eight-fifteen now. I'm gonna work on getting them out of there—even the isolation block isn't safe, it seems."

"Good luck."

"Where are you headed?"

"Roanoke. I wanna know more about what went down there."

"I'll call."

"Please do. Something tells me there's still something we're not seeing…"

* * *

Around nine o'clock the isolation block was looking better than it had in the last twenty years. It didn't hurt that there were now four men painting the walls an off-color white rather than the lone man that had been painting the day before.

"Think you lot can handle a paintbrush?" the block warden asked.

The three newcomers had agreed that they could.

"You're not sending us elsewhere?" Hotch had asked, mildly surprised.

"After last night? I'm not entirely convinced that your friend didn't do that to himself…but there's still something about him that says he didn't."

"_He didn't_," Morgan said, a little too sternly.

"Enough of that. Now, paint."

Two hours later, the group had painted nearly to the end of the hall. It was already beginning to look brighter, and the color had an effect on the people who were working with it.

"Just be glad it's not pink," Rossi said.

The other man painting with them, Petr, stopped a moment at this news. "_Pink_ walls? In _prison_?"

"Guy out west has the insides of his prison painted pink. Claims it has a calming effect on his prisoners."

"I read about that," Morgan said. "It's that peppermint-pink color, isn't it?"

"Yep."

Petr just laughed. He'd been 'placed' inside nearly twelve prisons in the last ten years—all of them for undercover work—and that had been the first time he'd ever heard of pink walls inside a men's prison. "I don't know if that warden is the smartest man alive or the strangest," he quipped as he let his paintbrush glide over the bars of an empty cell.

"Probably the smartest," a young voice said behind them. "It's been proven that pastels tend to bring out softer emotions in people, hence the reduced aggression." Though it sounded to Petr like the young man—Reid—knew things like that by heart, his voice told him something completely different.

"Reid," Morgan said, looking as if he wanted to hug the man, but wisely let him have his space. "You okay?"

"Fine," he said, looking not at all like everything was fine. He was led into his cell, where he picked up the pillow and thin blanket he'd been given when he 'checked in,' and watched as two guards moved the thin cot into Hotch's cell.

"What's going on?" the older man asked.

"I'm putting him in with you until I can get to the bottom of this," the block warden said. "You seem to get on well with him, and I can't leave him alone…"

Hotch nodded. "Thank you."

The block warden grunted a bit, then shook his head. It was obvious he was still thinking about the events of the previous night. "Keep at it," he snapped sharply, and now five paintbrushes went back to work.

As soon as the block warden left, the three agents turned towards their colleague. "Are you all right?" Morgan asked.

"I'm fine," Reid replied, in that tone of voice that clearly said things were anything but.

"No, you're not,' Rossi countered. "Talk to us. Please."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Reid…"

"I'm fine!" He began painting a corner of the empty cell the others had been working on with passion.

Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan looked at each other. They all knew that they needed to get Reid to talk about what had happened. The thought of what he might do to himself if he didn't was at the forefront of everyone's mind.

They let him be for the moment and continued painting until dinner, and then they were put back in their cells. Petr had told them that there were still about five more halls on the isolation block to paint, and that as far as he was concerned, they could take their time about it. "It's nice to have the help, but I'm not looking forward to doing laundry again," he explained.

Now that it was just the two of them, Hotch hoped he could get Reid to open up about what had happened the night before. The younger man hadn't said more then fifty words the entire day, and for him, that was saying something.

"Reid," he began. God, emotions weren't his strong suit. He could profile the hell out of them, but actually _dealing_ with them…

"I know what you're going to ask, Hotch," the younger man said. "Please, just let it be. I'm fine. No injuries. Not even a scratch."

"That's just it. You're not fine. You know better than anyone that sometimes the 'injuries' someone gets are the ones that can't be seen."

Reid sat on his cot, falling silent again.

"The last time you tried withdrawing…how'd that turn out for you?"

Reid nearly glared at his boss. Hotch knew damn well what happened the last time something like this had happened—something that shook him pretty badly…

"I need to know you're not gonna do that."

"Hotch, where am I going to find that in here? I sincerely doubt the other three guys are in here for pushing intravenous narcotics…"

"Tax evasion, felony murder of a police officer and kidnapping," Hotch replied. He'd learned some time ago that it was better to even the playing field when it came to information, and he made a point to learn everything he could about a place or situation that couldn't be gathered through a quick profile.

"Terrific. Maybe it was one of _them_ who…"

"Who what, Reid?"

"I'm fine." Reid actually rolled up his sleeves, to prove his point. "I'm not dosing. I'm not shooting up. There's not a mark on me."

"It's okay to be scared, Reid."

"Not in prison."

"How many prisons have you been in?"

Reid thought about that. "A lot."

"And not as a federal agent or a profiler?"

"One."

"Okay then. We know what can happen in prisons. It's our job to know. But that doesn't mean we can't be a little on edge every once in a while."

"Just don't let it show."

"Well, that does help. But there's no one here to hear what you tell me. And I would think you know by now I'm not going to tell anyone what you say…"

Reid stared at the floor. "Really, Hotch, I'm fine."

"Physically, maybe."

"What do you want me to say? That I woke up to those voices overtop of me? That I _do_ know what happens in prisons, especially to people like me? That the thought of their hands touching me made me..."

"Made you what?"

Reid faltered. "I felt sick to my stomach. I wanted to fight them off, but I could feel something running up and down my back. Something sharp."

"Morgan says it was a carving knife. They used it on him, too."

"Then there was the cutting. The fabric tearing…"

"Okay. What then?"

"Once I felt the air hitting the middle of my back, I knew what they had been planning to do," Reid continued. "And I thought, _I can't stop them. I can't cry out, I can't fight back—if I do that, they'll kill me…_"

"Lucky Morgan woke up when he did." Hotch's face was more stone-like than ever. He didn't want to admit that Reid was describing what most men fear in prison, and that actually seeing it almost happen to one of 'his' people was making the lead agent's stomach turn into knots of its own.

"Yeah." The word came out almost as a single breath. "I was. They didn't get as far as they wanted to. But what they _did_ do isn't the worst thing about all of this, Hotch."

Now Hotch was taken aback. It wasn't?

"Just before they left, they said…they said that they could get to any of us. To _all_ of us. And…"

"..if you said anything, they would."

Reid nodded his head sadly. "I mean, I understand the concept—intimidation through fear, it's a common tactic used by people who want power over what they perceive as a weaker or submissive entity, but still…

"When it's being used against _you_, it's completely different," Hotch agreed.

"Yeah." Though Reid's face still held traces of that fear, Hotch could tell that a considerable load had been lifted off the younger man's shoulders.

"Feel better?"

Reid nodded again. "I think I'm going to try and sleep," he said, turning over on his cot, keeping his back to the wall and his arms wrapped protectively around him as he hid under the thin blanket. Within a few minutes, soft snores were emanating from his throat.

Just then the lights on the block went out. Hotch sat in the darkness a while, keeping watch. He wasn't going to let someone else try to hurt his people again.

* * *

"Any luck?" Chase asked as she pulled herself out of the car.

"They called the block warden in to see the judge, and though they said they're still looking into it, they can't definitively say that Dr. Reid didn't just work himself into a fit. On the plus side, the block warden seems more inclined to agree with the agents, but still, there's no proof."

"So we're where we were before," Chase said. "What about the women?"

"In that instance, there was a body—but it was an inmate known to be slightly jealous and paranoid," Mo said. "Bottom line is, they're chalking up Miss Jareau's attack to just being one of a jealous inmate."

"We're nowhere," Chase said, defeated.

"Well, not nowhere. The judge _did_ move up their initial hearings by two days…"

"Well, that's something…"

"Yeah, but still, they have to survive the weekend. The hearing is next Wednesday, rather than next Friday."

"I just hope nothing else happens," she said. "I've got two top-notch people in with them, but even they aren't miracle workers."

"Let's hope, for their sakes. Any word on…"

"You know better than that. All I'm gong to tell you is, Oliver's on assignment out of town."

"Ever the planner."

"Have to be, way we operate."

"And Roanoke?"

"Oh, my Lord, don't get me started," Chase said exasperatingly. "No sooner than Will and I get there than we have 'company'…"

"Agent Adlington?"

"The one and only. Demanded to know what we were doing there, that it was a 'federal investigation'—like that waving _that _around's gonna stop _me_—and that he'd 'hand over the information to that damned lawyer when he was satisfied.' Chase put the last part of the sentence in air quotes.

"Any ideas about him yet?"

"Josh says he's been with the Bureau a little over a year, that he's worked fast to get the promotions, and that a couple of his cases, to Josh anyway, seemed a little too 'neat.'"

"I don't like him."

"I wanna shoot him in all the places it hurts. Something tells me we look hard enough, we'll find Adlington behind these charges."

"Can't you get to the evidence before he does?"

"Unfortunately, no. Good as I am, I still can't trump federal credentials."

"I thought you had some."

"When I work for the Bureau, I do. And a lot of times I'll just use my private ones to fake something, but in this case…"

"Yeah. He's gunning for you."

"Probably because he can't get to me personally. Or my people. Wouldn't surprise me if he didn't try to take Oliver down for this too."

"I thought Oliver wasn't with the Bureau…"

"He's not, not anymore anyway. Works for me now, like I do with them. But Josh Hollenbeck still keeps him appraised on things."

"I'm surprised Adlington hasn't tried to finger this Hollenbeck person," Mo remarked.

Chase smiled. "Oh, I'm sure he'd try—but Josh could eat him for breakfast, and I think Adlington knows it. Stays as far away from the fourteenth floor as he can, he does."

The two old friends looked out into the twilight.

"I hope nothing happens tonight," Chase said.

"Me too," Mo agreed. Then the two said their good-byes and headed back to their makeshift offices, hoping to dodge the next bullet that came their way.


	9. Whispers

**Thanks for the lovely reviews! Please be sure to read Ch. 8! And thanks to T for the beta!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

By three o'clock in the morning, Garcia had had enough of her computer. She'd pored over every shred of evidence that both Kyle and Josh Hollenbeck had sent on this Adlington character, only to find very little to go on.

"He's almost _too_ perfect," she exclaimed to Oliver after the four hundredth commendation she found with his name on it in cyberspace. "Seems to find things wrong with cases that no one else noticed, or finds inconsistencies with methodology used in apprehending suspects…"

"It's almost like he's making it up as he goes along, and then rewriting the rulebook to make it work," Oliver agreed. He'd scoured the files Josh had sent with a magnifying glass. "Like this one—here he just 'happens' to notice that the same agent is managing to solve one too many cases for a fraud unit, and hey presto! Looks like that particular agent was the one behind the frauds in the first place…"

"Wouldn't anyone have noticed that down in the fraud bureau?"

"If they're keeping up on things. What's also peculiar is that this guy Adlington only seems to target or find the 'larger fish.'"

"Fish?"

"Like, with him it's never the paper pusher, or the random tech or field agent—there's no Christian Hanover-type in Adlington's world. He's only 'finding out' about the more important people or groups—fraud, for one…"

"Couple of SWAT busts…one involving a group of people that had been barricaded in a building for nearly five days."

"What happened there?"

"Looks like…hmm. The evidence posted here is showing that the perimeter was breached well before the go-ahead was given. Two months later, they arrest three members of that unit for reckless endangerment, as well as conspiring to commit acts of terrorism."

This piqued Oliver's interest. "What was his basis?"

"The building was a bank—the money was later found in the Netherlands Antilles, 'possibly being used to wash funds linked to known terrorist groups.'"

"That doesn't mean much," Oliver said. "There's a lot of places that have some pretty lax banking laws, so just because you invest your money offshore doesn't make a person a terrorist. Did they actually have proof that the money from the robbery was being used as laundry soap?"

"Um…doesn't say. I can look at the file itself…"

"No, leave that for now. If this guy's worth his salt, he'll have trackers or something there just waiting to search you out. We'll have to use something else if we want in there."

"It's really not hard…"

"No. More than my life's worth if you're caught—that leaves us nowhere, and all seven of you in jail. Not where we want to be."

Garcia sighed. It really _wasn't _that hard, but this time Oliver was right—there was only so much she could mask with 'Guillermo,' even though his protections and encryptions were top-notch.

"Can we at least look into this so-called 'case' we're supposed to have been plotting?" she asked.

"Can you get it out of your files without being caught?"

"Does chocolate melt in summer heat?" Garcia's fingers began dancing a complicated waltz on her keyboard. "Part of my job requires that I keep records on everything the team does, and I always keep a backup off-site for my own protection."

"Have a lot of people questioning your work?"

"We had one guy who hacked my system, complete meltdown," she explained. "It got one of our former members shot pretty badly."

"They all right?"

"Physically, yeah. She left a few months later though."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah. I was too. After that I encrypted everyone's personal information, and kept off-site backups, mostly because I didn't want that happening again. Then it got _me_ shot."

"Garcia!"

"I'm fine, by the way. Full range of motion, though I learned that some 'undercover' help isn't always going to get the result you want."

"Really."

"Anyway…" she said, her eyes now focused on her screen. "Yep. Here we go…"

"Just so I know, where are these 'backups?"

"Um…"

"Not in plain sight, I hope?"

"Of course not. Do I look like I fell off the truck last week?"

"Just checking. Don't need Adlington, or whoever's pulling his strings, finding out we're looking."

"Well, duh." Garcia pulled up the file on the case in question. "Oh. The case in Roanoke."

"Seems like a popular place for terrorists."

"Not really. Says here the team gave the profile as it being a group of fringe believers who thought the federal building housed the known location or whereabouts of the 'Lost Colony of Roanoke.'"

"Like, what? Papers? Maps? Human remains?"

"Ah…it doesn't say. Gives the full workup, dossiers on the known members of the group, eight of which were in the building that day, as well as the list of survivors and the names of those that were killed."

"What about methodology?"

"Metho-what?"

"How did they get the people out?"

Garcia scanned further. "There was a bomb that went off, something that looked big but actually did very little damage. It only hurt the three people closest to it. There were a couple of larger safety deposit boxes that went missing—box, contents and all…"

Oliver's ears perked up at that. "Did anyone ever find them?"

"Doesn't look like it."

"Do we know what was in there?"

"Government paperwork of some kind. The boxes were owned by key people in the Bureau for housing of documents—personal notes, photocopies, stuff like that."

"How can you be sure?"

"Cause if it wasn't, then we have a bigger problem."

Oliver rolled his eyes. "And Adlington?"

"I'm searching…nothing."

"What do you mean, nothing?"

"I mean there's nothing here. No notes, no scans, no forms that deal with the questioning of witnesses…it's as if he just picked something out of a hat…"

"But why that case? I mean, weren't there others that could have been just as damaging? And why the team at the BAU? I mean, wouldn't counterterrorism be a better target? Or fraud?"

"Hey, I'm just the all-knowing computer goddess," Garcia said. "Digging into creepy people's minds and figuring out the information—that's someone else's specialty."

Oliver shook his head. He glanced at his watch and stifled a yawn. "I'm exahausted. I'm going to sleep, and in the morning I will go over those notes of Josh's again. Might call him too. Hopefully he'll have something more for us."

Garcia wanted to continue working, realizing that it was the only way that she could get herself and the others out of their current predicament, but she felt her eyelids begin to droop. About half a dozen times while she searched the screen she swore it went black for a second or two.

"Are they okay?" she asked. Oliver stopped in mid-step as she asked the question.

"I hope so," he said. "I really hope so."

* * *

Though the night came, there was no relaxation in it. Nor sleep. Four pairs of eyes stayed awake, waiting for the next _thing_ to go wrong. Petr knew that three of the four 'newcomers' would barely sleep, or sleep out of sheer exhaustion, and this worried him. In his experience, a personal attack didn't always happen in the dead of night—though it was exceedingly more likely.

In another cell, Hotch watched as his young colleague slept. He knew he should get some sleep himself, seeing as he hadn't slept since the attack on Reid the night before.

_It won't do any good to fall asleep 'on the job,'_ he thought. _We can't afford to be split up…not after that…_

And yet, he still couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, his thoughts turned to the sight of Reid, lying on the thin cot, his clothes cut and mangled, the young man afraid to move or even speak to anyone but him.

_Why is it taking so long to process us?_ Hotch wondered. _Perhaps Morgan's right—it's just a way to keep us detained long enough to kill us all, one by one. But why?_

The lead profiler began running all of their old or active cases through his mind. There were dozens of people, surely, that sought to do them harm.

But all _seven_ of them? At once? It didn't seem likely. Usually an unsub would fixate on one or two agents, and then usually the ones that are instrumental in apprehending them.

_If this was about an old case I tried, then putting me through this makes sense,_ Hotch reasoned. _Or one of Rossi's old cases, from way back…or even someone in Chicago that Morgan might have ruffled the wrong way when he worked there...but that still doesn't explain Reid, who hasn't had any lasting grudges leveled against him, nor JJ, even though her face is the most public one out of all of us. Emily might have people from her earlier work in the Midwest, but in the end Reid's right—the odds of all of us angering the same person at different points is impossible._

Hotch then began trying to work his tired brain to find the cases where someone had the skill to pull off a set-up such as the one he was fighting through now. The only person he knew that could possibly do it was the most unlikely person of all.

_Chase Davis could pull something like this off…but I know she wouldn't do this to us. I __know __it. Besides, the range of emotion that woman displays can't be 'put on' for show…it's too 'in the moment' for that._

With his only likely suspect eliminated, Hotch found himself back at square one, still trying to concentrate on the problem at hand while attempting to force his eyes open. His eyes were winning the fight.

_I'll lie down, just for a second,_ he thought. As soon as his head hit the pillow he was down for the count.

Across the hall, Rossi too was battling the shroud of sleep. He managed to work his own eyes open to find Hotch asleep, and Reid curled into a ball on his own cot. He only hoped Morgan was catching some shut-eye, but knew better. The younger man probably was pacing the floor at this second in an attempt to stay awake.

Like Hotch, Rossi couldn't fight the sleep anymore. His eyes gently fell closed, and his breathing began to grow shallower and more rhythmic.

Not five minutes after he'd fallen asleep did something wake him up. It was the sound of voices hissing in his ear.

"Look there," one of them said. "Fast asleep. As if there wasn't a care in the world."

"But there is, of course," said another.

"Of course."

"Seems a shame, about that baby…"

Now Rossi's eyes flew open, and he bolted upright. "What?"

But the room was empty. The cell doors were shut tight, and from all appearances it looked as though no one but him had ever been there.

Except for the photograph.

Rossi picked up the square piece of photo paper that had been carefully laid in the middle of his cell. What he saw on it sickened and saddened him straight to his core.

"No," he said, first softly and then louder. _"No!"_


	10. The Photograph

**Thanks for the lovely reviews!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

"Dave?" a voice called out. "You all right?" It was Morgan.

Rossi continued to stare at the single photograph, of JJ lying on a tile floor much like the one he stood on, curled into a ball. There were several nasty looking gashes covering her arms and legs, and a line of red crossing her abdomen that could just be made out. The angle of the shot showed she had bruises on her face as well.

"My God," he said, mostly to himself. Words failed him.

"Dave!"

"It's okay, Morgan. Just a dream. Go back to sleep." Rossi didn't want to wake anyone else just yet, and he certainly didn't want the block warden coming back tonight as well. If the four of them proved to be a problem, he knew what could happen.

As for sleep, all thoughts of that vanished. Rossi tucked the photograph underneath his pillow, wanting to keep it as undamaged as he could. The photo itself was bad enough—it didn't need extra creases to make the poor woman's condition look worse.

His mind kept rolling over towards the little blonde, who was tougher than a box of three-penny nails and always kept a smile in her back pocket. She'd been so looking forward to finally meeting her baby…and now, it seemed, she never would…

The thought of that was too much. He'd never had kids, sure—was always working, or his ex-wives were always working, and it just never came to be. But he liked kids. The few times he saw Hotch's son always brought a smile to his face, and when children were the victims in the countless cases he'd investigated, he took it more personally—perhaps the only one who beat him out there was Morgan, who always looked like he wanted to raze skyscrapers with his bare hands when young children were an unsub's target.

Rossi thoughts turned to the cell just kitty-corner from his own. _When Morgan finds out, he'll lose it,_ he thought. _And I don't want to think what the others might do…_

On the other hand, _not_ telling them would be cruel. They cared just as much as he did.

Rossi pulled the photograph back out from under his pillow. His eyes danced over the sight of JJ, all black and blue, looking like a riot had claimed her.

In the dark, where no one could see, a seasoned man let tears fall silently down his face.

* * *

The next morning brought what had become the standard routine: lights-on, head count, breakfast, and then back to work. The agents, along with Petr, who seemed all right despite the fact they knew very little about him, continued painting down another row of empty cells.

"Must be a slow period here," Reid mused as he let his brush trail over a set of bars. "Not a lot in isolation."

"I think that's why we're painting it now," Petr said. "Started this job when there was only two people in here. That guy on the end, he came later, then all of you at once."

"Which one?"

"Quiet thing, looks like a stiff wind would knock him over?"

Hotch knew which one. "The one in for kidnapping."

"Guess so. Though I'm surprised he could manage to snatch someone, way he is…"

"Doesn't take much," Morgan said. "You'd be surprised."

"Eh, what do I know? I 'helped' my company cheat a little on their books, and look where I end up."

"Helped?"

"Really, there was no choice. They had things about me they used to get me to do it. Not a nice place, that."

"Mmm."

It didn't take long for the others to realize that Dave wasn't talking much. He painted a section of wall slowly, sometimes painting the same stroke seven or eight times.

"Dave?" Hotch asked

"Hmm?" He never looked up.

"What's bugging you?"

"Makes you think something is?"

"There's enough paint on that wall to survive a nuclear winter," Morgan quipped. "Seriously, what's up?"

"Nothing."

"You know, talking…it does help," Reid said softly, standing next to the older agent and painting alongside of him. "Believe me."

Rossi continued to paint. He didn't look at his colleagues—he was afraid that if he did, he'd start to cry.

"Dave."

"It's nothing, Hotch."

The other three gave each other knowing looks. Something wasn't right.

The east side of the hall had been painted when the block warden came in. "Nice," he remarked, not above giving a compliment to his prisoners when it was deserved. "You guys work fast."

"Thanks."

"Look, I need the floors washed in here. One of you want to take off painting for a bit, get it done?"

Each one looked at the other. "Which one?" Morgan asked.

"Doesn't matter. Except you," he said, tipping his head in Reid's direction. "Can't leave you alone."

"I'll go," said Morgan.

"All right then. It won't take long—you'll be back pretty quick."

Morgan followed the block warden out of the hall they were painting, listened as the metal bars on the front of the hall slid shut, separating him from his friends. He followed down the short hallway, where an industrial-size mop and bucket were waiting.

"There you are. Just work up and down these halls," the block warden said. "The one you guys are painting on we'll get tomorrow. Leave the bucket near the door when you're finished and we'll come get you. There'll be someone on the block to take you back."

Morgan picked up the mop in his hands and began sweeping the object over the worn tiles. He briefly thought about trying one of those access doors, but there were several guards pacing the halls on watch, as well as the fact he knew full well the door was locked from both sides. It was how the warden could let him work almost unsupervised—there was little chance of making a run for it.

The work wasn't hard, and because the block was empty save for him, it made the job go even faster—there weren't problems coming from other inmates to worry about. Morgan stopped a minute to realize just how fast he was working.

_If Mom knew what I was doing now,_ he thought to himself, shaking his head. His mind wandered over some of their previous cases, looking for any hint of someone who might be able to frame them as they had been.

_Most of the people I've made mad at me are dead,_ Morgan thought. _I know the ones Reid's dealt with are dead…except that guy in witness protection, but he wasn't mad at Reid, just that kid who took his daughter. I couldn't begin to count the number of people Hotch and Rossi might have pissed off in their careers, especially Hotch—more angry defendants and their families than unsubs looking for revenge, I'd guess. Emily—she worked desks before coming to us, so how many people could she have pissed off? Unless this has to do with something abroad…_

_And JJ, and Garcia—who would want to hurt them? 'Course, I thought that before, and look what happened to Garcia…_

Morgan's mind was so deep in thought he never noticed the footsteps that were walking in time to the sound of the mop connecting to the tile. He never realized someone was standing behind him until he felt something sharp press against his throat.

"Now," a voice whispered, so soft that Morgan had to strain to hear it. He wanted nothing more than to take the guy out behind him, but the knife at his throat was keeping him in check. "Perhaps we can finish what you so unkindly interrupted the other night?"

"Go to hell," Morgan spat.

The sharp edge bit into his skin a little. "Now, see, that's not nice. Your young friend was much more accommodating…perhaps I'll look him up again…"

Morgan fell dead silent, pure rage coursing through him with every second that passed. The sound of the two men's breaths was loud enough to fill the tiny hallway.

"Now, if you would," the voice said again, pulling Morgan towards an empty cell near the corner, far from the eyes of the guards.

_If I go in there…_ Morgan thought. He took a sudden step backwards, allowing a little slack from the knife blade against his throat, and then hit his assailant from behind as hard as he could. The knife clattered to the floor as surprised hands let go of it in shock. Morgan kicked the weapon away, and turned to face his attacker.

"Who sent you?" he demanded as the man lie on the floor, gasping for breath.

A hand shot out, grabbing Morgan's ankle and pulling him to the ground in a heap. A pair of hands flew across the floor, aiming for Morgan's throat. The two fought viciously for several minutes, Morgan's self-defense moves being an equal match for the assailant's offensive tactics. Finally, the man got the upper hand, pinning Morgan to the ground.

"The next time, you'll do exactly as I say," said the man, whose bright grey eyes shone like marbles. "That lady friend of yours, she didn't, and it cost her."

"What friend?" Morgan demanded.

"Such a shame, about her baby…it was lucky there was a crazy woman on her block to frame for it…"

"What did you do to her?!"

"Ask your friends. One of them has a picture…"

Suddenly there were catcalls coming from the guards. Footsteps sounded against the worn tiles.

"Gotta run," the man said, and then quickly stepped into the hallway and vanished through an access door that locked shut just as the guards came down the hall.

"Hey! What gives?"

"Sorry. I fell," Morgan said, not eager to go through another ordeal like the one two nights ago. "Slipped in a puddle. Must have knocked myself out a minute."

"You hurt?"

"Just a little dizzy. I'll be okay." In fact, things were most definitely _not _okay—but he couldn't let them know that.

"Well, finish up. Got one more hallway to do, and it's nearly time to eat.…"

"Yes, sir."

Morgan quickly finished. He then followed the guards back into his cell, where he was walked in and watched as the door fell shut. Once the guards had left, Morgan looked out of the bars towards Rossi's cell.

"Rossi, did someone leave you a photograph?"


	11. Chase's Idea

**Thanks for the reviews! Please remember to read and review!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

"What?" The tone was more surprised than questioning.

"A photograph."

"Morgan, come on," Reid said, trying to be logical. "How would he get a photograph in here?"

"Just…go with me a second. Do you have one or not?"

Rossi didn't say anything. He did, however pick up the single piece of paper and hold it up, the white back of the photo showing. "How did you know?"

"Lucky guess."

"Unh-uh. Someone told you."

"In a minute. Let's see."

Rossi tried to judge the distance between the length of his arm and the width of the hallway separating him from Morgan's cell. "I can't reach."

"Let me," Petr said. "I'm at a better distance."

Rossi hesitated. How well did they really know this guy?

"Do you want him to look, or not?" the younger man asked, though not unkindly.

"Let him do it," Morgan said.

Rossi leaned into the cell door as far as he could, holding the photograph in his outstretched hand. Petr reached for it as well, doing the same in the cell next to him. Once he got it, he casually flipped it over and got a look before figuring out how to toss it across to its waiting recipient.

The image struck him. This would need to be reported, as soon as possible.

"Come on!" Morgan hissed, waiting impatiently.

"Sorry," Petr said. He then attached the photograph to a piece of twine he had lying in his cell—it had been left there by the previous occupant and never removed—and gently swing the small object like a pendulum. When he thought he could make Morgan's cell door, he let go, letting the photograph sail a few feet and letting it land right in front of Morgan's hand.

"Thanks," Morgan said gratefully. Then he turned over the photograph.

"_Son of a bitch!" _he said, almost a little too loudly.

"Shh!" four voices called out.

"We cause any more problems, they might split us up," Rossi warned.

"_We're _not the ones causing the problems, are we?! Hell, we can't even take care of ourselves…!"

"Morgan. What is it?" Hotch asked sharply.

The sound of breaths being forced to fall shallow filled everyone's ears. "You don't want to see, Hotch. You either, kid."

"What?"

"It's JJ," Rossi said finally.

"Dave…"

"No. I should have said something earlier. I didn't. Partly because _I_ was taking time to deal with it myself. How you knew though…"

"I was 'paid a visit.'"

"When?" Hotch demanded.

"When I was cleaning floors. They've got keys to this place, Hotch—that's how they could get in to Reid the other night, how they got to me, how they gave Rossi this picture…I saw the guy I fought with just slip out one of those access doors on the end as if it were Alice's rabbit hole."

Now Hotch was even more worried. Two of his people had been attacked, one nearly violated in ways he shouldn't have to think about, and one 'left' a photograph of another…

"Let me see that photo."

"No, Hotch. Trust me, you don't…"

"Morgan." That no-nonsense voice again.

Morgan glared, as if to say _are you sure you really want to do this?_

Hotch stared back, as if to say _you have to ask?_

Heaving a sigh, Morgan fought to control his emotions as he reached over and handed the photograph to Hotch. Being on the same side of the small walkway helped matters a lot.

Hotch took the photo and turned it over. He took in the sight of JJ lying on a floor, dressed in orange, with crimson staining certain parts of the jumpsuit. He saw the bruises covering her face, the gashes on her arms, the obvious pain she was in…

"What happened?" he wondered aloud, his voice sharp and cold.

"They said she lost the baby," Rossi said, trying hard not to show the emotion that was desperately clawing in an attempt to get out.

"They?"

"Whoever put that in here, Hotch," the gentleman clarified. "I couldn't tell you who…"

"Guy who tried to jump me said the same thing. Something like, she 'didn't do what she was told' so they had someone attack her."

"The problem is, an attack like that can be explained away," Reid said, his voice now softer than anyone had ever heard it. "It's why they put pregnant women in isolation units—because someone might try to hurt the baby." Only Hotch could see the tear that fell down his cheek, and he understood why—JJ was a friend, and Reid knew she'd been looking forward to her baby's arrival. The thought of his friend having that taken away from her…

"What next, Hotch?" Morgan asked. "Do we just wait until they kill us?"

"We don't know for certain that's what's going on."

"Are you blind?! Two attacks, and then that picture…"

"But we're still living, aren't we?" Hotch understood why Morgan was so upset—truth be told, he was too. But as for a way to stop it…there, he came up short.

"Whoever's behind this is nothing short of psychotic," Morgan retorted. "And patient."

"You were wondering why it took a week to process six people," Rossi mused thoughtfully. "This could be our answer."

"Biding time?"

"Why not? It's not like any of us can really go anywhere. We can't stop these things from happening—they're always at night, and when the lights come on, there's no one there. Everything's easy to explain away."

"I know," Morgan said. "I chalked up my being on the floor to slipping on wet tile."

"And no one's the wiser."

"And it's not like they're just picking at random," Rossi continued. "These…'attacks,' I guess we'll call them, seem to be positioned for a reason…"

"Well, that explains Reid, and JJ," Hotch conceded. "But Morgan?"

"I'd bet a lot that mine was random, Hotch," Morgan said. "They knew they'd get either you, me or Rossi, and because of the 'message,' they didn't care which one it was. It just so happens that it was me."

"You think the block warden is in on this?" Rossi asked, realizing that the man had been 'around' about the time all of the attacks occurred.

"No, I don't think so," said Morgan. "He didn't seem to know what was going on with Reid…"

"And if he were, he wouldn't have put him in here with me," Hotch concluded. "He'd have kept him separate, and likely sent him off instead of Morgan today…"

"What about Emily? Do we know what's going on with her?"

"Nothing. I only heard about JJ."

"Same here."

Now Hotch struck the bars with a closed fist. Reid's eyes were the size of dinner plates.

"Hotch…"

"Everyone I know is being targeted, including me, and there's _nothing_ I can do about it!" he said sharply. "You, then JJ, Morgan…next thing we'll find out is that Emily's lying in a heap too, only not as lucky as JJ."

"You think her losing her baby is _lucky_?"

Hotch heaved a great sigh. "Of course not."

Only Reid saw the tear forming in his boss's eye. He knew.

Petr, meanwhile, let the chatter continue. He wasn't sleeping anyway. The next day, as soon as they went back to work on painting detail, Petr made a request to use the phone.

"Again?"

"Hey, I get two a week. Collect."

"Fine. Go," the guard said, walking Petr down to the phone bank.

Again, Petr dialed a familiar number.

"Hey, it's me. Whoever's behind this thing, they're good, girlie. I hope you know what you're doing…"

* * *

Chase Davis sat in a small room that Mo had taken over at the Chinese consulate. His father approved of the work he was doing, and granted him access to whatever he needed to 'get those people safe,' as his father put it. Li Xiao still felt a deep debt of gratitude towards 'the American detectives' who managed to save his life, the lives of his colleagues and his only child. As far as Chase herself went, Ambassador Li was always fond of her, and found it fascinating that she could reach out to do so much good for others in her profession.

"I've got most of the paperwork done for the initial hearing," Mo told her. "It's standard stuff—they go in, reiterate their pleas, we make arrangements for trial motions and set a date."

"Change of plans."

"What?"

"I said, change of plans."

"Chasie, you can't circumvent the legal system. Not and expect it to work…"

"Someone is doing just that, and if we let them sit in Philadelphia someone's going to kill them," Chase replied. "I got another call from my man inside—seems someone paid 'visits' to two of them, and they got a photograph…"

"A photograph? Of what?"

"Of Jennifer Jareau, looking like something your cat would toss out," chase said. "Only _they_ were told she lost the baby…"

"I thought you said she did not."

"Yeah, but _I _know that and _you_ know that. _They_ have no idea."

"Still, that doesn't sound like…"

"Look, Mo. It's simple. First these people are going to use intimidation—the attacks on Dr. Reid and Miss Jareau, false information, 'surprise' visits—just to rattle them enough to keep them on edge. Next there'll be an 'accident'…"

"You're not suggesting…"

"I am. Happens a lot. Plus, my man says they're sure these people have keys to the access doors. Apparently Morgan saw one…how'd he put it? 'slip through like it was Alice's rabbit hole?'"

"They're not safe in there."

"No shit."

"Your people, they can't stop this?"

"My people are deep undercover. They're in the same position as our clients are. They do, however, report to me, and that's how I can get a better picture of what's going on. Besides, all the attacks seem to be at night, at least for the men, when no one's supposed to be in their cells."

"And the women?"

"Nothing since JJ's 'incident,' though my girl there has been staying close to Emily," Chase said. "They keep JJ completely isolated—no visitors, no work, no anything because of her condition and the target she presents."

"I have to get them transferred out of there," Mo said. "There has to be someplace they can go, where I can work with them and they don't need to worry about having their throats cut before breakfast."

Chase stared at the walls of the room. They were a bright, cheery red, with gold trim and scrollwork.

"How's your mother?" she asked. Mo was a little surprised by the question.

"She's well. Why do you ask?"

"She in town?"

"No, at the estate. Why?"

"Big place, that estate."

"It is." Mo had a feeling he knew where she was going with this.

"Lots of rooms, large grounds, round-the-clock security that can be padded if need be…"

"Yes. But I still don't…"

"The consulate owns that estate, do they not?"

"They…why, yes, it does." Mo finally got it. "It _does…_"

"Nice to see you could join me," Chase smiled. "Now, all we have to do is figure out how to get there…"

"You do realize what you're suggesting to me is somewhat illegal."

"Mo, didn't you graduate from law school?"

"Yes."

"Then tell me you took that seminar on consular law…"

"You know I did."

"Then was I the only one paying attention?"

"_That_ part isn't illegal, Chase. _Getting_ there is."

"Oh. Well. There any chance I can get an audience with your dad today?"

"He's in meetings until five, but I think he could be convinced to take supper…"

"Good. I'm buying. Trust me, after I get done, _I_'_ll _be the one owing _him._"


	12. The Chinese Cherry Trees

**Thanks for the reviews! Please remember to read Ch. 11!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

It was Wednesday. Emily woke up knowing she'd follow the same routine she'd woken up to since this nightmare began—lights-on, head count, eggs and toast for breakfast with coffee that tasted like lead substitute, then a quick shower before being sent off to mop floors. The one bright spot in all this was that she had to scrub the floors with another inmate, Anya, who seemed like she was all right. Her English wasn't terrific, but she could hold a conversation well enough. She let the woman chatter on as the time passed.

It had been nearly a week since the team's arrest and remand to prison. Emily had asked to speak with her lawyer, to get a phone call out, to even call her parents just so something could be done about her things and her place. None of these requests went filled. "We have to finish processing you," she was told simply.

However, this morning brought a change. "Get dressed," the guard said, tossing Emily the clothes she'd been arrested in. "Going to court this morning, can't be late."

_Finally, now we're getting somewhere,_ the woman thought as she slipped into her cream-colored blouse and dark dress pants. _Hopefully someone's gotten JJ up and about…I want to see how she's doing…_

The night of her attack, Emily had managed to see just how badly her friend had been hurt. It really did look worse than it actually was.

"I'm okay, Emily, really," she'd said, trying to keep herself together. The guards had come instantly, as soon as Emily started fighting JJ's attacker off. The Russian girl had started screaming at the top of her lungs, and that had helped.

As soon as she was dressed, Emily was led out of her cell and down a short hallway. From a distance she caught a glimpse of JJ being led toward her, wearing the pale yellow sundress she'd gotten as a gift from Garcia.

"Hey," the little woman said, taking slow, careful steps.

"Hey," Emily replied.

"That's enough," the guard replied. "Come on."

Both women allowed themselves to be placed in shackles and then walked out to the waiting transport that would take them to the courthouse. Upon arriving, they were seated first, and then waited a few minutes as the guards locked the vehicle down and banged on the roof once to signal that everything was set.

There were only three guards in the van—one sitting between Emily and JJ, one riding shotgun and one in the driver's seat.

_Must figure we're not a risk?_ Emily thought. The driver and the guard riding shotgun were talking, but it was too low for her to make out.

"You two must be glad to be going out," a voice said. It was accented, Russian, Emily thought, but it seemed almost familiar…

"I'll be glad when this nightmare is over," she replied curtly.

"Ah, you are 'innocent,' of course?"

Emily remained silent. She knew just how many times even the guiltiest suspects claimed 'innocence.'

On the other side, JJ said nothing, but began to look a little squeamish.

"Not planning to have that little one here, are you?" the guard asked. It was hard to make out the woman's face—almost as if it were being masked for some reason.

"No," JJ replied.

The van traveled down the highway a little while longer, and Emily watched disinterestedly as the billboards passed her by.

"You both look pretty rough," the guard remarked. "Bad time of it?"

"We're fine," Emily said. Didn't this woman realize they were in no mood to talk?

"Yes. Is always what you say. 'Fine.'"

Emily glared once at the guard, but said nothing. She then turned her head toward the window again. _What genius decided we had to be housed in Philadelphia?_ she wondered. _You'd think they'd want us kept closer to D.C., especially with this case being so high-profile and all…_

Then Emily began noticing the billboards. They weren't heading in the direction of Washington….

"Where are we going?"

"To court, where else?"

"No. This isn't the way to Washington, D.C. We're headed in the wrong direction!"

The guard looked at Emily, bright green eyes staring at her intensely. "Do you trust us?" she said.

"What?!"

"Do you trust us?"

Emily tried to toss a glance at JJ, who was looking more confused by the minute. "I don't understand," she replied. "What's going on?"

"Do you trust us?" the guard insisted. Those green eyes…there was something about them…

"Y-yes," Emily said haltingly.

The guard turned to JJ, repeating the same phrase. This time, however, there was a flash of recognition from the smaller woman. "I do," she said, without a trace of doubt in her voice.

"Do you wish our protection?"

_Protection? _ Emily wondered._ What the hell…?_

"Yes, we do," JJ said before Emily could say a word.

The guard snapped something quickly in a strange language—one that Emily had only heard a couple of times before. She couldn't place the origin, though, except that it was an Asian language of some kind.

"JJ? What's going on here?"

"It's all right, Em. Just hold on…"

Emily nearly got whiplash as the van pulled off to the far right side of the highway and pulled off onto an off-ramp. The van now began taking back roads somewhere, twisting and turning as much as a snake from a charmer's basket. The fact that her hands were bound in shackles didn't make things easier as she constantly tried to right herself after a sharp turn or push herself away from the glass as things like rocks and oncoming traffic looked as though it would hit them head-on.

"Please, slow down!" she cried, trying desperately not to get hit or mangled in the crash she knew was coming.

"Almost there…" the mysterious guard said, trying to reassure her. "It's okay…"

"Not if we're dead, it's not!"

"Please, why are we going so fast?" JJ asked, looking a little green. She hadn't been taking the plane too well in recent months, and this ride seemed like it was at just about the same speed as takeoff usually was…

"It's okay. Almost there…ah!"

The van pulled off the road in through an ominous looking steel gate. The vehicle was waved through quickly, and the gate was immediately closed after their arrival. Something squawked over the 'radio' that was in the front—it was something in that strange language Emily had heard earlier.

"Right on time," the 'guard' said. "Now comes the hard part…"

With the accent dropped, Emily recognized the 'guard's' voice instantly.

"Where are we?" Emily asked, now completely confused.

"Someplace safe, though I'm sure there's gonna be some problems outside," the voice said. The 'guard' tossed off the cap she'd been wearing, letting her short black hair fall around her face. "God, I hate that," she said, realizing there was a mess of hair on top of her head. "You two okay?"

"We are now," said JJ, still a little green but definitely relieved. "But really, Chase, _where are we_? And where's everyone else?"

"Everyone else is standing right over there," Chase said, pointing out a similar van to the one the women were sitting in. "And for the other question…well, what do you know about sanctuary laws?"

"That people can seek sanctuary in places of worship, like a church or a mosque or a temple, as long as it's considered as such by the community," Emily said. "But I think Hotch could explain it better…"

"That's the gist of it. There's also sanctuary that can be provided for citizens of a nation by a consular officer, or merely being on the grounds of a consular office or holding. Technically, it's as if we've traveled to the country that holds the rights to it."

"And this place?"

"Ah," Chase said. "There they are now. Come on, I'll get you guys out of that getup…"

Emily never felt more relieved than to have the shackles taken off of her ankles and wrists. She felt more like a human being than she had in the previous five days. "Thanks," she said gratefully.

"Don't mention it. Was one of my better schemes."

"What about court?" JJ asked, worried they were going to be in deeper than they already were.

"Oh, yeah, about that…"

Chase fell silent as she led the two women over towards the small group standing near a pair of blossoming cherry trees. There, underneath, a very confused and bewildered quartet stood looking at their surroundings and wondering the same things that Emily and JJ were.

"What the hell is going on here?" Rossi asked, his tone more questioning than angry. He, for one was glad to be out of that cellblock. As soon as his eyes rested on JJ and her enormous midsection, he instantly heaved a huge sigh of relief. "Thank God," he said.

"JJ! You're all right!" Reid cried, just happy to see that his friend hadn't been badly hurt.

"Yeah, I'm okay…but how'd you…"

"Long story," Morgan said, pulling the little woman into a great hug. "Long story…"

"Looks like we've got time…"

"Hey, how are you guys?" Emily asked, giving each one the once-over. "Are you all right?"

"Nothing a good sleep and breakfast can't fix," said Morgan. "I'd like to get to work, though, as soon as that's dealt with…"

"Me too," said Chase. "Time is of the essence, but we've got plenty of it."

"Chase? What are you…?" Reid began, now thoroughly confused.

"Later. There's some people I want you to meet." Chase stood front as two figures came up the drive, one dressed in a black silk suit and the other a woman dressed in a traditional silk gown. The woman's hair was pinned with ornamental chopsticks in a neat bun, and behind her trailed another pair of people, both dressed nicely but definitely in some sort of uniform.

"Agents Hotchner, Rossi, Morgan, Reid, Prentiss, and Jareau," Chase said, "I'd like to introduce you to Ambassador Li Xiao of the People's Republic of China, and his wife, Madame Li. Madame, the 'American detectives' that the Ambassador speaks of."

The woman bowed deeply, then said, "Welcome. I wish this could have been under better circumstances." There was a trace of an accent in her voice, but her English was well-spoken.

The team made their introductions, then Hotch turned to the young woman standing next to him. "Miss Davis, where are we?"

"Technically?"

The look Hotch gave showed his insistence and his confusion.

"The consulate grounds of the People's Republic of China. Ambassador and Madame Li have offered to give all of you sanctuary here until things can be 'sorted out.' And before you ask, they got the judge handling your case thrown off, 'conflict of interest' or some such bullshit, and there's a new one coming in two weeks. You will, of course, be filing your statements through your lawyer."

"Does he know we're here?" Morgan asked.

"Kind of."

"Whoa—what's 'kind of'?"

"Legally, Mo can't 'know' you're here right now, but as a person, it's hard to hide this many guests from one's only child," Chase explained. "Once he gets here, he's 'surprised', okay?"

"Chase, what have you done?" Hotch asked.

"Do you really want me to answer that?" Chase replied.

"You realize you just committed federal kidnapping…"

"Six counts. And I'd do it again, too. These people out there aren't out to throw you lot in prison and throw away the key, Agent Hotchner. Whoever's behind this, they're trying to _kill_ you. And they're not going to stop until they have, or have made you suffer so much that suicide looks like an extremely tempting option."

"You'd break the law, just to save _us?_" Morgan cried.

"I don't lose people, Morgan." To herself, she added, _not anymore._

"Eventually _someone's _gonna start asking questions, like 'where did they go?'" Rossi added. "I'm sure the Ambassador can't hide us forever…"

"You would be surprised, sir," the Ambassador said calmly, as though he expected the question. "As far as my country is concerned, we are merely repaying a debt to those who would save us."

"_Us?"_

"I think the Ambassador's saying that basically, we saved his life, now he's saving ours—and with the consent of his government," Reid replied, now finally understanding what was going on. "They're giving us sanctuary, guys…"

"We can't possibly…" Hotch began, but Chase stopped him.

"Yes, you can," she said flatly. "How many more nights do you want to lie awake, wondering if everyone else will still be breathing the next morning? How many 'attacks' have to take place before it's one too many? How many times do you have to suffer when one of your people gets hurt or abused, Agent Hotchner, before it's finally enough?"

"That's not our place to say!"

"Yes, it is!"

"How?"

"Did you notice something about those 'incidents' this last week, Agent Hotchner?"

"What about them? That they were planned meticulously? That someone's giving these people access to us without our knowledge or our consent? That at any time, _any time_, one of us could simply be found lying in a heap of our own blood, just waiting to be seen by the rest as a 'message"?!"

"Doesn't that _tell_ you something?!"

"Chase, we can't run from this. It's not going away."

"No shit. Really? That's why we're here—to work this thing and find the evidence we need to _make_ it go away, _legally._ Even _I_ can't just snap my fingers and make this disappear—I'm not _that_ good at my job…"

"Still, we can't…" It wasn't that he didn't want to accept the offer—Hotch realized that going back to Philadelphia simply wasn't the answer. But going on the run…

--"Goddamn it, Ben, for once in your life you're going to listen to me!"—Chase suddenly said, her hands flying as fast as her words were. –"Don't you understand? Someone is coming right for you, and I'm trying to keep you _alive_ through all of this!"—

Suddenly there was a hush that fell over the pair of cherry trees like a thick blanket. Chase was heaving great breaths into her lungs, as if she'd run a marathon in a minute and a half.

"Chase?" Emily asked softly. "Who's Ben?"

"No one," Chase said. "Why?"

"Because a minute ago you were looking at Hotch and called him that," Reid replied. "Who is he?"

"No one. Leave it alone."

"Chase…"

Chase spun on her heel, saying something to the Li's and then heading off towards another part of the grounds. As the morning mist rose off the grass, the team could see the figure of a young woman running towards a grove of trees in the distance, as if something out of the past was racing to keep up with her.

"Come," Madame Li said. "At least, you must eat. Perhaps a bath?"

"I could use that, Hotch," Morgan said.

"Me too," said JJ, already growing tired from the morning's 'excitement' and standing on her swollen feet.

Hotch looked at the people he worked with on a daily basis; the people who looked to him for the answers when sometimes there just wasn't one to be had. _She's right,_ he thought to himself. _How long can I let them continue to come at us without putting up a defense? And if we can build one here, then perhaps we should…_

He stared out a few seconds more, at the strange group of people that were now closer to family than any of them realized.

"I suppose breakfast couldn't hurt, if it isn't any trouble," Hotch said politely to the lady of the house.

Madame Li turned and said something to the servants, who bowed politely and hurried back down the path. "This way," she said, beckoning her guests forward. "Follow me."


	13. About Ben

**Thanks for the reviews! **

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

"Please, in here," a small man said, leading Morgan and Reid into what looked like a large sitting room. It was simply furnished—two chairs, a low round table in between them, a small sofa, and thick draperies in a hunter green that coordinated with the paint scheme—hunter green with gold scrollwork. Both men stared at the room, wondering why they'd been brought inside such an elegant space.

"The bedrooms are on each side, behind those doors," the man replied, pointing at two thick teak doors on opposite ends of the room. "The bath is behind this wall, and the entrances are through the bedroom."

"Wow," Morgan said under his breath. He'd have happily settled for someone's sofa for a long nap, but this? It was as if the Li's had been expecting them…

"Please, ring when you are ready," the little man said, pointing towards a small buzzer set into the sitting room wall. "Madame, she would like to have your things cleaned, if she may, and a change of clothes is waiting."

"Yeah," Morgan said, still taken with the work in the sitting room. _I would definitely love to meet the guy who decorated this place,_ he thought.

"New clothes?" Reid asked suspiciously. The idea of someone having gone through his closet unsettled him somewhat.

"Please. When you are ready." The little man turned and headed for the door.

"Hey, ah, what's your name?"

The little man turned again. "My name is Han Wei," the little man replied simply.

"Thanks."

Han Wei bowed deeply, then left the room.

As soon as the door closed, Morgan felt brave enough to have a look at their surroundings. The curtains were thick, excellent for blocking out light and soundproofing. The doors had locks in the proper places, good deadbolts that looked fairly new, and as soon as he stepped into the bedroom on the left Morgan knew for certain that they had been 'expected.'

"I think this one's mine," Morgan called out to Reid, who looked too afraid to even _move_ inside the sitting room for fear of accidentally breaking something.

"How can you be sure?"

"Open the other door, and you'll see."

Cautiously, Reid opened the thick teak door. Inside was a room dressed quite similar to the sitting room in shades of green, but there was a great four-poster bed lying in the middle of the room. On the left of the enormous bed was a small wardrobe that had been left open; on the right a small reading table and a stained-glass faux antique lamp featuring what looked to the young man like small sparrows on it.

Reid's eyes were swimming. Not more than five hours ago he'd woken up in a 6' x 9' off-white cell, on a thin cot across from one Hotch had occupied, wearing the most garish color of orange imaginable. Now he was standing in a room that only the characters his mother read to him about would have dared to dream existed.

He took slow, careful steps towards the open wardrobe, and was surprised to find it held several silk shirts in it. Each one was a carbon of the last, except that each one had a different design in the print on the fabric. Reid picked up one of them—a green, long-sleeved type with a Mandarin-style collar and several buttons running down the front that fastened to small loops. The pants were black, about five pair, and each one looked as though they had been hand-sewn.

"Morgan…"

"I told you," the older man called out. "I'm going to check out the bathroom, all right?"

Reid sat down on the great four-poster, surprised to find it was extremely soft and very comfortable. Then he thought he might as well have a look at the bathroom too, as long as Morgan was decent.

"Morgan?" he called out. "Are you going to be long in there?"

"No, just having a look right now. Come on in, you have _got_ to see this…"

Reid found the door that Han Wei had told them about—it was a smaller version of the bedroom's entrance, but it led straight into a room covered in a mix of hunter green and white tile. The bathroom was bigger than half of Reid's entire apartment—it held the usual furnishings for a bathroom, as well as a marble countertop in a cream color with deep sinks carved into the marble, two of them. A giant looking-glass hung above it, and behind a small partition that set off the sinks from the rest of the bathroom sat the largest bathtub Reid had ever seen. On the other side of the room stood a shower cubicle the size of Reid's whole bathroom at home, with little shower heads angling out of the wall at various points.

"Wow," Reid said, having a closer look at the bathtub. It was large enough to fit at least one and a half people his size.

"Amazing," Morgan seconded, his eyes still dancing over the shower.

Then reality hit.

"Can't keep everyone waiting," Morgan said finally. Turning to his younger colleague he asked, "How do you want to do this?"

"You go first," Reid said. "I'm going to try on those clothes in there."

"Okay," Morgan said. "I won't take too long."

"No problem."

Reid left the bathroom and carefully inspected the clothes, looking for labels on them. There weren't any to be found. He tried on the hunter green shirt and found that the arms were a little long, but otherwise it fit almost perfectly. He tried on the pants, and found them to be a little long as well.

_Not bad,_ he thought. Then he felt somewhat guilty. _I can't accept this, _he reasoned. _I mean, this is almost __too__ much…_

But then he realized that the clothes he was wearing he'd had for the last five years, and the cardigan he was pulling back on had been picked out for him by his mother, just before she went into Bennington.

The thought of his mom made him worry. _Her bill is due soon, _Reid remembered. _And how am I going to pay for that here? I'm not bringing anything in, I can't leave, and I'm pretty sure they froze all of our assets the second we were remanded…_

_I'll talk to Chase. She might know what to do. Or Mo Li, who's supposed to be coming by later…_

Just then Morgan knocked on the door leading from Reid's bedroom towards the bathroom. "All set, Reid," he called out. "Whenever you're ready…"

Reid sighed and took the hunter green shirt and a pair of the black pants. He didn't have any other underwear, but then, things could be worse. The young man ran the bath for a few minutes, then slipped into the warm water and let some of his troubles wash down the drain.

* * *

As soon as Reid was dressed, he went into the sitting room to find Morgan waiting for him. What was amusing to Reid was that his colleague was dressed quite similarly to Reid himself, except that his shirt was made of a gold color instead of hunter green. Truth be told, Reid thought Morgan looked quite nice in it.

"Nice," he said.

"Hey, you don't look so bad yourself, kid," Morgan replied. "Looks better than those sweaters you're always wearing…"

"Is it my fault we live in a subzero climate?!" he joked. _God, the wonders a bath and clean clothes can do to a person_, Reid thought. He reached out and pressed the button, and a few minutes later Han Wei answered the door.

"Come, please," the elderly little man said. "Everyone is waiting." He then ushered the two profilers out of the room and led them to a great dining room, where a couple of familiar faces greeted them.

"Hey, look who's finally here," teased Emily, who was dressed in a gown similar to Madame Li's own dress, in a traditional Chinese style. The red silk and gold pattern that snaked across the fabric really brought out the dark hair Emily kept so neat.

"Probably got lost in that bathroom, if it's anything like ours," JJ replied. She was wearing a more loose garment, similar to a fancy robe that had a Mandarin-style collar and a belt to hold it together. Morgan looked closer, and realized that the garment had several hook-and-eye buttons like the ones on his shirt that also helped fasten it.

"Man, I have to say, I feel like I'm dreaming," Morgan admitted. "It's like Alice in Wonderland or something…"

"I felt the same way," Emily conceded. "And then the girl, Song Fei, she just told us to make ourselves at home. I'm almost afraid to, to be honest."

"Why?" Reid asked, taking his seat.

"Because outside this place, people are still looking for us," Emily said. "Someone's still got our number, and I'm not willing to hide forever."

"No one says we're going to," Morgan said. "I for one plan to hit the ground running, as soon as I can find Chase and find out what's going on with everyone out there."

"Speaking of Chase, ah, where is she?" Reid asked. While they were still waiting on Hotch and Rossi, Reid was certain he'd see their friend waiting for them when they came downstairs.

Both Emily and JJ shook their heads. "Whatever set her off, she must be working it out," JJ said. "She ever mentioned this guy Ben before, Reid? I know you and Garcia go down to play cards at that place every so often…"

The table fell silent as they also realized that somewhere out there, Garcia was still running from the law, trying not to get caught.

"No, she hasn't," Reid replied. "Though once in a while Kyle says something about it. Whoever he is, he's obviously important to her."

"Nothing?"

"Well, what do we know about her, really?"

"Runs her own business, in information, though I'm certain she does more than that," Emily began.

"Knows Cantonese, and American Sign Language," JJ added. "And I think she can 'get by' in a couple of others, but I can't be sure..."

"She plays things loose, but always has a plan in the works," Reid said, remembering the incident some months ago when they met Oliver Lawrence. "I don't think she has any family, either…at least, none that any of us know about."

"Really?" Emily asked.

"Yeah. That much I'm sure on," Reid said. "Her parents died in a car crash when she was fifteen, and then she lived with her godfather until he died, about seven years ago."

"How'd he die?" Morgan asked.

Reid shrugged. "She doesn't talk about it."

That statement set Morgan's wheels turning in his head. Before he could say anything, though, he caught a glimpse of the team's senior agents being escorted to the table. Morgan had to suppress a smile as he noticed that both Hotch and Rossi were wearing the same outfit that Reid and Morgan had on, except that Rossi's was a deep royal blue and Hotch's was black from head to toe.

"Nice," Morgan quipped. "Gotta be better than that suit, Hotch, really…"

"That's not the half of it," Rossi chuckled. "He's got five shirts in there, and _three_ of them are black. Guess what colors the other two are?"

Everyone shook their heads.

"Gray and some sort of steel blue," Rossi said. "Whoever had those made up certainly knew you, Hotch…"

Hotch merely looked at the faces of his team, and saw that they were straining to keep their mirth under wraps. They snickered louder when they noticed he was absently running his hands across his neck, as if he were looking for something.

"God, I really miss my tie," Hotch said finally, then watched as his team broke into gales of helpless laughter. The sight of Emily doubled over, of Morgan's head lying flush with his placemat, pounding his fist into the wooden table, of JJ holding her sides with tears streaming down her face, of Rossi shaking his head and trying to hold in his laughter, of Reid—logical, collected, proper Reid looking as though he would burst into a fit of giggles brought a rare smile to Hotch's face. Then he, too, began to chuckle.

The laughter lasted a full five minutes, well into the time it took for five servants to bring in a late breakfast. The team tucked into the food gratefully, the thought of the meager breakfast they'd eaten in prison vanishing from memory. Once they were finished, a pair of servants—Reid recognized one of them as the elderly Han Wei, the other was a girl no more than maybe nineteen or twenty—led them into what looked like a large drawing room where there was a stack of files waiting for them.

As Hotch pulled up the first file, he realized that these were all the cases that the team had worked since Rossi joined them nearly fourteen months ago. "Everyone grab one and start reading," he said. "Somewhere in here there's an answer…"

"Hopefully," Emily replied.

* * *

Five hours later, Morgan stood up. He desperately needed to stretch his legs. He'd sifted through at least ten case files, poring over every aspect with a fine tooth comb, and still hadn't found anything suspicious.

"I'm getting some air," he said to the team as they all looked up from their paperwork. "All I'm getting are a bunch of questions that I can't answer."

"All right," Hotch said. "But stay close."

Morgan promised he would, then set off towards the back entrance. He needed some help in finding it, then walked along the neatly kept grounds, admiring some decorative bushes that had been cut in the shapes of various creatures. Morgan particularly liked the ones of the dragon and the tiger that were near the garden entrance.

In the distance Morgan saw a reflection coming off of something—upon closer inspection, he saw it was a small pond. There was a pair of large willows that stood guard over the glass-like body, and beneath their weeping branches a wrought-iron bench sat near the bank of the pool, where small fish swam to and fro.

On that bench sat a figure that had been missing for several hours. She was staring out at the water, as if no one had come. Her face was red, and it was obvious she'd been crying, though it had been a while ago. Her usually unruly short hair was now particularly frazzled, and she looked like someone who's been told the most important thing in their life was suddenly gone. Morgan knew what that felt like—he'd felt it himself, a long time ago, on a particularly cold night in Chicago…

He sat down on the bench, staring out at the open pond. He knew it was best to let her speak first, if she wanted to speak at all.

"I'm sorry," she said. It was as if she were speaking to someone else, someone Morgan couldn't see.

"For what?" he asked gently.

"Earlier. I was out of line."

"I don't know," Morgan admitted. "Part of me thinks there's something else going on, something you don't want to share."

"It's not important now."

"It is to you."

"But I can't change it." Chase continued looking out over the water. "There ever been something you wish you could change, something you can't fix, no matter how hard you try?"

Morgan nodded. There were a couple of things he'd like to change, but knew that he was who he was because they had happened.

"I was working this job, once, for a private client," Chase began. "Nasty work. Involved looking into some pretty nasty people. When they found out I was watching them, they made it very 'clear' that if I didn't drop the case, I'd regret it."

"And you didn't?"

"No. Can't keep working in my line of work if you're gonna be intimidated that easy."

Morgan nodded once. He understood.

"That same time, my godfather, Ben, he was working on expanding the college, making it more of a business and science base to compete with Galludet," Chase continued. "And he was succeeding, too. Too well."

"How's that?"

"There were some that didn't want the school to 'change' from its liberal arts base, wanted it to be more of a 'general ed' kind of place. Ben had a lot of enemies, that year. Normally, he had a friend on every corner."

Chase sighed.

"One night I came home and found him in his study. He had a letter in his hand, and a message on the answering machine. He was waiting for me to come home to listen to it—he was hard of hearing, and hated hearing aids."

"What did it say?"

"Called Ben every name in the book, swore that the caller would 'see him dead' before he put up with more changes in town. But that wasn't what scared me. It was the letter."

"The letter?"

"Yes. I can see it, in my head, like it was yesterday—the carefully printed words, the color of the ink…it scared me, Morgan. And I don't scare easy."

"What did it say?"

"Said that if I didn't 'desist' and give up on my case, I'd 'lose something valuable.' I told Ben that night that I was calling up some people I knew, even his friends if I had to, but he wasn't going without protection."

"He objected?"

Chase swallowed. "Yes. He was a proud man, Morgan; in some ways you remind me a lot of him. Your personalities are a lot alike, both good and bad. But he was stubborn—as stubborn as Agent Hotchner can be sometimes. Like today…"

Morgan nodded.

"It was the worst fight we'd ever had. He was yelling, signing; I was screaming, signing at top speed, and we were both telling the other to stop doing what we were doing. He wouldn't listen, told me that he'd go where he wanted and do what he liked—he wasn't about to let anyone intimidate him, and that was that."

"You didn't have people put on him?"

"It turned out I didn't have to. That night I realized how to solve my client's problem, and acted on it. Two months later, I came home—the case having resulted in arrests weeks before—and found Ben lying on the floor of his study." Chase stopped suddenly, and Morgan realized she was crying. "It still keeps me up at night, that sight," she said through a tear-filled voice. "Lying there, splayed out, face down in a pool of his own blood…"

Morgan instinctively put an arm around the sobbing figure as he listened to her heart breaking.

"He never hurt anyone!" she cried. "He was fifty-four years old, and his only fault was his damned stubborn pride!"

"Hey," Morgan said, trying to calm her. "Like you said, the case was over. How could you know? It might have even been those people fighting him about the expansion…"

"That's just it," Chase said, finally looking Morgan in the eye. "I _don't know_. It's been almost seven years now, and we've never caught the bastards who did this." She sniffled, wiping her face with a sleeve. "I can't even go into his house, not since…"

Morgan just held her for a second in that sideways grip of his.

"The worst part is, I think I was _there_ earlier, and it was_ Ben_ I was arguing with, at least in my head," Chase said, her sobs beginning to subside. "I've never told him this, but Ben looked an awful lot like Agent Hotchner does—except he had green eyes, like mine, and a shock of white hair that was that way long before it should have. In about thirty years, Agent Hotchner won't look too bad, really…"

Morgan realized what had happened. "You're worried that same thing will happen to us."

Chase nodded. "I can't go through that again. I can't just watch and do nothing as people I care about become targets for someone's sick idea of a game, or revenge, or whatever…"

It was a little while before Chase finally composed herself. "Don't tell Agent Hotchner," she asked. "If he knew…"

Morgan shook his head. He wouldn't.

The sun began to set as the two walked back to the dining room for dinner. Chase took a seat next to Ambassador Li, and tried to smile as she looked on the faces of the people she knew and cared about.

Just then a voice floated in from the main hall.

"Hello, Mother," Mo Li called out. "I've just had the day from…" He stopped short as he noticed the seven 'dinner guests' that were seated at the table. "Oh, my Lord," he said, his eyes dancing over each face.

"Hello, Mao Xiong," his father replied. "You were saying, about your day?"


	14. Dinner Conversation

**Thanks for the reviews!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

That Wednesday morning was proving to be only the start of a hellish day. Mo knew as soon as he reached the office inside the consulate that he should have just stayed in bed.

There were two messages on the small answering machine that had been hooked up for the purpose—one from the Federal Courthouse, stating that there had been some 'problems' with the judge handling his clients' case, and that there would be a two-week continuance until things were sorted out. Mo made a mental note to file a writ to try and get bail arranged for the six people now trapped in Philadelphia for another fourteen days. This 'week for processing' nonsense was now beginning to really irk him.

The second call was from Josh Hollenbeck, asking him to come back down to his office on the fourteenth floor—he and 'the Southern Frenchman,' as he called Det. LaMontaigne, had found something interesting.

As Mo got off the elevator on the fourteenth floor at Quantico, he could hear what had to be the greatest shouting match on record. A short, stout little man was trying with all his might to shout down a taller, even rounder man with a strange accent and a voice that meant business.

"Where are they, Joshua?" the little man said. Mo recognized the voice as that of Agent Adlington, all 'high-and-mighty' sounding.

"Eensolant theeng!" Josh shouted back. "I am a senior agent een thees department, and will bee addressed as such."

"Fine. _Agent Hollenbeck,_ the question remains: where the hell are they?"

"I 'ave no idea what you air talking about."

"Bullshit!"

"Sair! You air trying my patience!"

"I could give a good goddamn about your patience," Adlington said flatly. "What I do care about is the prime suspects in a federal terrorism investigation have suddenly vanished into thin air. You always seem to know what's going on around here, so I demand that you tell me whatever you know!"

"Eet seems rathair eenteresting to me that a 'terrorism' chairge ees being eenvestigated by someone outside my office," Josh retorted. "As the 'ead of the counterterrorism unit, I should be informed, no?"

"This is in regards to suspicious methods, and therefore under my purview," Adlington fired back.

"As you say, boolsheet," Josh swore. "The peeple on ten air chairged with terrorism, yet you do not eengage the office that specializes een such matters? You air showing your 'and, sair, and makeeng my job a lot easiair…"

"For the last time, _where are they?_"

"Een Philadelphia, last time I 'eard. 'ave you lost them?"

As Mo entered the older man's office, he nearly ran into Adlington on his way out. "I'll get to the bottom of this, Hollenbeck. You're not irreplaceable."

"Neithair, sair, are you. Now, _bonsoir._"

"What's going on?" Mo asked, his 'lawyer voice' in full swing.

"When I find them, I'll tell you," Adlington sneered. He stomped towards the elevator and pounded the button for twelve.

Mo walked into Josh's office. "May I ask what that was about?"

"Someone _lost_ them," a heavily accented voice said from the corner of the office. Mo turned to see Will LaMontaigne standing in a corner, looking worried.

"Lost…who, exactly?"

"Evairyone, eet seems," Josh spat. "All of them, the peeple on ten, _poof!_ They are vaneeshed!"

"Wait—someone let them out?"

"No one knows what happened," Will tried to explain. "Apparently the prison up at Philadelphia got phone calls, was told they had a court date and needed transport. They got them up, loaded them onto trucks, and then found out the court date was pushed back two weeks."

"Yes, I got that message," Mo said, referring to the later court date. "So you're saying that they've disappeared?"

"Yes." Both Will and Josh nodded their heads in agreement.

"My Lord," Mo said. "This is a nightmare…"

"That's not the half of it," Will said. "There's something else you should see. Over here," he said, leading Mo's eyes towards a series of photographs. "See those?"

"Yes…what am I looking at?"

"Still frames from the security cameras from that incident in Roanoke," Will clarified. "Josh—Agent Hollenbeck, I mean—had them separated frame for frame and analyzed by those people out there."

"You, sair, may call me 'Josh,'" the older agent said kindly. "That arrogant phony…bah!" There was something else the man said, but Mo's French was more than a bit rusty. Will, on the other hand, winced a little.

"So, what's different?" Mo said, waving a hand towards the still frames.

"Look here, here, and here," Will said, drawing circles overtop of frames that showed people huddled in the middle of a floor, trying to hide underneath tables and objects as other people in black masks carried guns. "See this guy, here?"

Mo looked at the picture. "Yes…"

"Now look here," Will said.

Mo squinted to make out what the detective was getting at. "He's calling someone, on a cell," he answered.

"Yeah. Three different times."

"But what's so peculiar about that? I mean, there were dozens of agents on the scene, yes? And these people _were_ talking over a phone to them?"

"Well, all of those calls were made to a landline—got them on tape and everything…"

"The voices on those tapes, those air the, 'ow you say? 'Crazies'?" Josh asked.

"'Crazies' will work," Mo clarified.

"_Ce'st bon._"

"This guy never got recorded, but that's just the beginning. Look here," Will said, pointing to another frame.

"Okay…what's this?"

"See this here, and here?"

"Wait a second…these two don't match…"

"Happens about three times in this tape. It's like someone 'edited' the version they gave you, or something. I'd be willing to bet that whoever did it probably tampered with more than that."

"We've got to get the whole tape, uncut,"

"Yeah, well, that Adlington guy's got it, and…"

"Leetle pissant, 'e will give eet to me, or else!" Josh yelled, hoisting himself out of his favorite chair.

"Josh, whoa, hey…_calm down_," Mo said, trying to get the angry agent to see reason. "We have to get the tape legally, and with no chance of having it thrown out of court. We can use this one we have to prove the evidence has been doctored…"

"Bah! 'e weel say that _we_ deed thees!"

"Hard to prove on a frame-by frame still set," Will countered.

"There air methods 'e could use. I know of a few myself, pairsonally, that could 'ide such theengs…"

"O-kay. We still don't need Adlington investigating _you_, Josh. They're already going for everyone at the BAU, what's to stop them from deciding you're next?"

"I can make peeple, 'ow you say? Disappear?"

"I wouldn't advertise that, Josh."

"Ees true."

"That guy's been in looking for stuff on that woman, Chase, I think her name is? Her and some guy named Lawrence…"

"They want Oh-lee-vair," Josh spat. Another strong string of French came tumbling out of his mouth.

"Well, Oliver's out of sight for the moment, as is our friend Garcia, it seems," Mo replied. "Even I don't know where they are. Now, about my missing clients…"

"Yess. We weel look eento thees," Josh said. "I 'ope they 'ave not fallen victeem to sometheeng worse…"

"Me too," Mo said. "Now I have to call about this court date…"

* * *

"…and now imagine my surprise when I find you all at dinner with my parents!" Mo finished as he tucked into a plate of orange duck. "Chase, I knew where you were going the other day, but really…"

"See? I _knew _you didn't pay attention in consular law," the woman said simply, a small smile dancing mischievously across her face. "And now that they're here…what do you plan to do, Counselor?"

Six faces stopped eating, and looked expectantly at Mo.

"Well, it's not as though I could convince them to leave…"

"Nah," Chase said, answering for them. "I doubt it."

"Then this does provide me with the opportunity to get to work. I've wanted to get more towards the bottom of this, and them being cloistered from me wasn't working."

"Problem solved, then."

"For now. I still have to explain where they've gone to in two weeks, and why they're not in court…"

"Tell 'em the truth," Chase advised. "They've taken sanctuary, and are out of reach."

"But that's not entirely true, and we know that…"

"What do you mean, 'not entirely true?'" JJ asked, looking concerned.

"Well, technically, you've been given harbor by a foreign entity. In that respect, no one can get to you—people like Adlington can't just come up to the grounds and demand you be handed over. There's a lot of legal logistics that allow for it, but bottom line is, you don't have to leave unless A) the sanctuary grant is revoked by the entity that has given it, or B): you _choose_ to leave the grounds, at which point you become able to retake into American federal custody," Mo explained. "It's the drawback. Once you leave this place, you've demonstrated that you no longer wish the protection of the entity giving you sanctuary."

"You're suggesting that they might try to draw us out, by 'other' means," Rossi said.

"I am. And from what I understand, those means can become quite creative." Mo fiddled with a piece of duck in his chopsticks. "It would not surprise me to hear that the security or perimeter here had been breached, that one of the staff had been bribed to 'entice' you to leave by some method—in all honesty, I half-expect someone like Adlington to try and threaten someone close to any of you outside this estate."

"You think he's that desperate?" Emily asked.

"I think he's spending an awful lot of time and resources on trying to make it look like you planned to blow up a building with people inside, on purpose," Mo replied. "And if it isn't him that's spending the time and resources, then whoever's pulling his strings is."

"You don't think Adlington's the one behind this?" Hotch asked.

"No. Not entirely," Mo said, going into a little more detail about Will and Josh's discovery. "Now, it doesn't put you completely out of the line of fire, but it does cast some doubt…"

"All we need," Morgan said, trying to angle a chopstick full of rice into is mouth.

"Yeah, but on this we don't want to get off on some technicality," Hotch countered. "We _didn't_ do this."

"I know, Hotch, but if they can prove _that_, it's a start!"

Hotch nodded once. "Yes. That's true."

"So what else is new?" Chase asked, trying to be cordial.

"Well, it seems Adlington or his string-puller is really looking for you, Chasie," Mo said. "He's asking a lot of questions about you and Oliver…"

"Shit," Chase said. "Maybe I should pull him in…"

"I wouldn't, at least not now," Mo advised.

"Why not?"

"With them looking, it might be safer for them to stay where they are—wherever that might be." Mo's tone of voice said he believed she knew exactly where that was.

Chase shook her head. "Don't look at me. I just told him to get her and leave town. After that, I have _no _idea…"

"That doesn't sound like you…"

"It does when you're busy doing 'other things,'" Chase said pointedly.

Reid was having a time of his chopsticks, having managed to toss the food everywhere _except_ inside his mouth. Finally he sat them down, looking exasperated, and just stared at the remainder of the food in front of him.

"Not very good with those, are you?" Chase laughed. Beside her, Ambassador Li was chuckling softly at the sight of his young guest practically wearing his dinner instead of eating it.

"Confucius or no Confucius, I still can't see why people would think eating with pencils is a good idea!" he said, half-laughing and half in exasperation.

The whole table began laughing. "Come on," Reid said imploringly. "This isn't that funny, guys…"

Now the table laughed even harder. Chase even noticed the two servants standing by trying to suppress a chuckle. She beckoned to one of them, a young girl of about nineteen or twenty, and asked, "Is there perhaps a fork on the grounds?"

"There is," Madame Li said between trying to contain her mirth. She tipped her head at the girl, who bowed politely and took off in the direction of the kitchens.

"It's amazing," Chase said.

"What?" Reid was looking at his friend warily.

"Certified genius in everything _except_ coordination," Chase replied. "My mother always said that people give something up to be good at something else…"

"You know, they can't prove that…" Reid retorted, just as his too-long sleeve dropped right into his teacup and his elbow knocked an empty saucer onto the floor.

"It looks like they just did!" Emily cried, the laughter on her face evident.

"Shut up," Reid snapped, but his tone was light. Even he had a smile on his face.

"Those can be taken in, in the morning," Madame Li said. "I hope you like them?"

Everyone replied that they did, in fact, like the clothes. "How did you know our sizes, ma'am?" Morgan wondered.

"Ah, that was me," Chase said. "I actually had to go through those bags of yours you keep at the office—I mean, I can guess on some, but especially on men's sizes, its…"

"Oh." He looked at his shirt, which he really had to admit looked good on him.

The serving girl returned with Reid's fork, and the rest of the meal was spent talking about matters other than the problems that lie ahead. In the back of everyone's mind, though, was this thought—_what might someone try and do to 'convince' us to leave?_

* * *

After dinner the team reassembled in the drawing room, where they were able to compare better notes. Mo showed them copies of the still frames that Will and Josh had found, giving them a better idea as to what the lawyer had been talking about earlier.

"Well, there's your proof," said JJ. "Someone else is in on this."

"Yes, but proof of what?" Chase countered. "Adlington could just as easily argue that the splices in the footage were put there by Josh's people, in order to build you a defense. The person on the stills there proves that there was more than one person in on this plan, but again, what if they argue that that person was calling one of you?"

"Then can't you pull our cell records?" JJ countered.

"I can have it done…" Chase pulled out her phone. "Excuse me."

As she left, she passed the serving girl from earlier, and smiled. "Hello," she said.

The young woman smiled, but said nothing. She had been trained too well, and knew her place. As Chase made her call, the young woman—Song Fei—continued on towards the servants' quarters. There were many stories to tell tonight…


	15. Touching Base

**Thanks for the reviews!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

_A/N: I don't speak Cantonese, so any dialogue that's in bold is supposed to be in Cantonese._

* * *

Wei Lin stood on her tiptoes as she pointed at the young man's arm. "Up, please," she said politely, her limited English and heavy Cantonese accent making it difficult for her to be understood.

The young man held his arm out to the side, a confused expression on his face. "Like this?"

"Up, please." Wei Lin pointed higher, taking the time to brush a stray strand of hair off of her face. There were signs that she was getting older, but was actually closer to fifty than she looked.

The young man held his arm out higher, his fingers now at a 45 degree angle with his head. "Like this?"

"Good," the seamstress replied, pulling out a little stool. Han Wei had warned her that the 'angel' was very tall, much taller than even the young Master Li, and at five-ten that was saying something. "Hold, please."

The 'angel,' as the servants came to know him as, stood nervously as Wei Lin prepared her needle. He closed his eyes as she began her work, taking in the sleeves of the five shirts that Madame Li had had her prepare several days ago. The task had been enormous, and she had received permission to bring in her niece, Yang Linshou, to help her fill the order. Wei Lin knew better than to ask what the clothes were for—she had been a seamstress and a good servant for far too long for that—but she was getting nervous watching the 'angel's' expression on his face.

"I no poke," Wei Lin tried to reassure him. The 'angel' didn't look convinced. He was a very tall, very skinny man—not one she would have thought could save Master Li and his son, but had apparently done just that, several months ago. Han Wei told the servants the story of how he'd been working the night the masters had been attacked by Miss Charlotte and a man who looked like a statue. It seemed fanciful, even coming from a man of nearly sixty, but Han Wei was adamant.

"**Miss Charlotte, she hold knife in hand, and young master looked at her like** **she kill him. She take out gun, shoot the master, then is taken away with the statue man."**

"**You lie, Han Wei," **Wei had said then. **"Miss Charlotte, she is good person. Full of courage. Your eyes play tricks."**

But Han Wei hadn't been wrong. Neither was Wei Lin. The Master and Madame spoke well of 'the American detectives', particularly a very tall 'angel' that had helped them get to safety. Miss Charlotte was spoken well of after that, so the servants decided that she had done right and was vindicated by the masters.

Then the 'guests' had arrived, all worried and looking nervous. Wei Lin managed to catch a glimpse of some of them, and was very surprised to find that not only was there a 'statue man,' but that _he_ was the head of household for the guests!

There was also a little woman, a sparrow-like creature, who looked as though she might fall over with her child. Wei Lin had had to let out some of her gowns, as Madame did not have the 'sparrow's' exact measurements. She had bright laughter, the 'sparrow,' and even Wei Lin managed to catch some of that infectious laughter.

"**She is very worried,"** said Song Fei, who at nineteen was one of the youngest members of the household staff. She was well respected, though, and performed her duties admirably. Song Fei was also the niece of Han Wei, and had both gotten and maintained the position through his help. **"She wishes to banish these dark things that bring her and the others here."**

"**This they all want, Song Fei,"** Han Wei replied. **"The statue man paces quite often, and Grandfather tries to talk him down. Dark times are coming to this house, of this I am certain."**

The household staff looked at each other nervously.

"**Should we send for Mother Ling?" **Wei Lin asked, noting that she'd needed to add nearly a quarter of a yard of fabric to the 'sparrow's' dresses.

"**She has been informed, and can be here on little notice," **Han Wei assured her. **"Madame has seen to that."**

"**What is the nightingale like?" **asked a couple of the younger serving girls, trying hard to keep composed. They had heard that the 'nightingale' staying with the 'angel' was very handsome…

"**Quiet, very focused. But gentle. I hear he was speaking with Miss Charlotte, about something that troubles her…"**

"**More trouble?" **Song Fei asked.

"**No, child. This is trouble long past. Miss Charlotte's trouble, only she can solve, I think. I was here, that day the phone call came in for the young master…he cried, that day."**

"**The young master does not cry…"**

"**This time, he did." **Han Wei's face was dead serious.

The household staff fell silent again. Their impression of the American guests, on the whole, was that they were good people.

Now, not nine hours later, Wei Lin stood precariously on a little stepstool, trying to get the 'angel' to relax and let her take in the sleeves of his shirts.

"Kid, let the lady do her job and quit squirming," the 'nightingale' said, watching his friend with some amusement.

"I'm not about to become a giant pincushion several times over!"

"Bad memories?"

The 'angel' fell silent.

"She's not gonna hurt you, Reid. I promise."

The 'angel' closed his eyes. Wei Lin could see he was mustering up the courage he had. Suddenly, his arm grew very still. Wei Lin smiled as she began to take in the extra cloth.

_**Yes, very good people**__,_ she thought to herself.

* * *

Robert Adlington was furious. He knew damn well _someone_ had stolen his key suspects right out from under his nose, and that wherever they were, it was only a matter of time. What was troubling him most at the moment was that no one seemed all that concerned about it—at least, no one of any importance.

_Hollenbeck's hiding something from me,_ Adlington thought insistently. _I'm certain of it. And that Davis woman…she's suddenly 'nowhere to be found' either…her or Lawrence._

It was Oliver Lawrence that intrigued him. A talented young agent, only twenty-nine, and he leaves a top position in counterterrorism to work for a woman that few people in the Bureau have heard of?

_Who __does__ that? _he wondered. _Who gives up a brilliant career for piecemeal work?_

It was something the ambitious Adlington couldn't conceive. Nor did he understand the reasoning behind Hollenbeck's anger at his very simple request. _He_ was the one in charge of this investigation, not some pompous ass who had a reputation for being good at his job but a hell of an intimidator. Adlington was certain he'd find some good skeletons in Hollenbeck's closet, that was certain…

But for now, he'd settle for the matter at hand. Eliminating a top profiling squad had its benefits, especially since they were potential roadblocks on his way to the top. If anyone could figure out his 'methods,' those seven people were at the top of the list.

Just then his cell rang. "Adlington," he answered, not bothering to check the caller ID.

"I'm very disappointed, Robert," a cold, calm voice said smoothly. "I was under the impression that things were 'under control.'"

"So you've heard about the 'disappearance?'"

"I have. Most regrettable. I assume you're doing all you can to find them?"

"I am. It's just, where could they go? There's too many of them to hide together, and…"

"I want results, not excuses. This could look very bad for you…and is a most unpleasant turn of events for me…"

"I'll get to the bottom of it. They can't have gone far."

"Now, that's more like it. I'll call again."

The phone hung up with a small _click_. Adlington _had_ to find them, and get them back to Philedelphia so that the caller could proceed.

More than his reputation depended on it.

* * *

Oliver Lawrence was about to beat his head into the wall. Both he and Garcia had been cooped up at Josh's cabin for nearly a week now, and between the information that Kyle, Josh, and Will LaMontaigne were sending over, they were getting close—but not close enough.

"Okay. So how many times was that tape edited?" he asked Garcia, who was finishing up a second run through of the footage Josh had sent.

"Nearly fifteen times. Creole man has some hella good eyes to even catch those initial three," she replied. "Most of it was some expert camera editing, high-tech professional grade. This wasn't some guy holed up in his basement for a month using scissors…"

"Let's put this another way—could _you_ do this kind of work?"

"Well, yeah, hon, cake," Garcia said. "I mean, with the right program and knowing what to look for…wait. Do I know what I'm looking for?"

"In theory, at least from a legal standpoint."

"Oooh!" Garcia spat. "When I find this guy…"

"Hey, me too. I'm sure we'll be fighting over leftovers though."

"Figures." Garcia's scowl only worsened.

Oliver yawned. He checked his watch—it was only three o'clock in the afternoon. "I'm going for a walk," he said. "Clear my head. When I get back we can try again. Whoever's putting this little show together, they're damn good at what they're doing."

"Yeah. No kidding. I'm going to make coffee."

"You don't want to go outside?"

"There are wild animals that might eat me out there!"

"Garcia, haven't you ever seen a deer?"

"Yeah. In pictures."

"And that bird wasn't trying to attack you…"

"Says the man who had to knock it senseless with a broomstick!"

"Tasted good, though, that turkey…"

Garcia's nose remembered the smell of the dead bird after Oliver chopped its head off and plucked out all the feathers. Turkeys from the grocery store sure didn't smell like that…

The blonde tech stood up and tried not to look too hard at her clothes. They were completely caked in dirt from being worn nearly non-stop for the last week.

"Is there something I can wash these in?" Garcia asked. Though she'd been in the little house for days now, there didn't seem to be any method for washing clothes around--at least, not one she'd noticed.

"Oh, yeah, you just fill up the sink and use the dish soap. There's no washboard, but between your hands should do the trick." Oliver stooped down to tie his shoe.

Garcia stared at him as if he'd told her to run a DNA profile through a Commodore-64 system. "What?"

"Hand washing. There's nothing else. I'll see if I can go into town and get something else for us to change into. You look like you could fit into a size…" Oliver deliberately left the question open.

"Oh, no. No, no, no. A lady never reveals her measurements."

"Garcia, it's that or I eyeball it. Trust me, last time I bought a woman clothes, my ex-girlfriend told me the outfit looked like she tossed on a potato sack. Your choice."

Garcia grudgingly gave over her sizes. "But pick something nice, okay?"

"You can leave me a detailed listing of what you'd like. I can only promise to try. This is kind of a conservative place, so I dunno…"

The heaving sigh that echoed out of the little house could have been heard in Greenland.

Oliver started out towards the woods. This was what he liked about Josh's place up here—there was nearly five miles of woods to get lost in when he needed to clear his head. The air was crisp, a little unseasonable for the middle of May, but welcome nonetheless.

_There's something we have to be missing,_ he thought. _Someone's going to a __lot__ of trouble to make it look like Garcia's team is responsible for this, but we know damn well that's not the case. Who sends a defense lawyer an obviously edited tape that could exonerate the suspects? Who tries to get them remanded to a prison nearly two hours from the court they'll be tried in? What is it we're __missing?_

Though Oliver walked through the blooming trees and small streams for nearly two hours, he could come up with no answer.

_I must be getting too close to this,_ he reasoned. _Maybe tomorrow I'll just let things sit, gain a fresh perspective the next day…_

As Oliver climbed up the small porch steps, he sincerely hoped Garcia had found something to cool herself off. The thought of trying to cook near the frustrated woman…


	16. Close Call

It had now been four weeks since 'moving day' in Campbell, and the third spent at Josh's cabin. Oliver wanted to find this guy Kevin Lynch and hand him a medal--putting up with a cooped-up Penelope Garcia had to be worth at least that much, as he could well attest.

It wasn't that Garcia was horrible, or prissy, or anything like that—not like his last two girlfriends, one of whom had had a silver spoon permanently lodged in her mouth and the other who had a fear of, well, _everything_ that didn't involve fine dining and theater. On the contrary, Garcia was easy to cook for and talk with, and had no problem even playing a few games of two-man solitaire just to pass the time. But it seemed that keeping her within the same space for longer than a couple of days started to turn her stir crazy.

And the worst part was, Oliver had no idea when they could both go home. The information that was coming in was pretty thin. Garcia kept scouring the servers for information, and Kyle was sending messages about three times a week. He couldn't talk about where Chase had gone to—namely because he didn't actually know—but he did keep them apprised with the bits of information that came in to the office and reported on the events of the moving process.

_--They broke Chase's lamp._

_Really?_

_--Yeah. 450 dollars, that. She's gonna be pissed._

_How's my desk?_

_--Fine._

_Not damaged?_

_--Well, not so's you can tell…_

_Kyle…_

_--What do you want me to say? The thing already looks like it survived Normandy!_

_That was my father's desk._

_--Oh. Then it's fine._

_You asshole._

_--Hey, it's boring here._

_Tell me about it._

_--Least you didn't have to fish two people out of Philadelphia…_

Now Oliver was interested. _What people?_

_--The Ukrainians…I had to 'transport' them out last week._

_Why?_

_--Can't tell you._

_Kyle…_

_--She'll have my ass, Ollie._

_I'll__ have your ass in a minute!_

The phone went completely silent for a minute. Then there was another cheerful 'beep'.

_--I never told you this. _

_Shoot._

_--Some birds got loose._

_And…?_

_--They're okay._

_That's it?!_

_--I'm risking a lot telling you __that__. But I __can__ tell you that someone's been looking hard into you and Chase…someone connected, that's for sure…_

_We know. Guy named Adlington._

_--Well, these IP requests aren't coming in from the government. They're coming from a private company of some sort, out of Silver Spring…_

Oliver held a minute. That place…the name sounded familiar…

_What's the company name?_

_--Lincoln something. I'm tracking it, but I keep hitting some hellish firewalls._

_Keep at it._

_--I will. Wait, here's something…oh, shit._

_What?_

_--Get out of there. __NOW._

_Why?_

_--They're coming…the feds…_

Oliver hung up the phone at once. "Garcia!" he shouted.

"I'm right here," she said, standing on the porch. "What?"

"Get your stuff, right now. We're leaving!"

"I can go home?" The look in her eyes was hopeful.

"No. They're coming straight for us!"

Garcia's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. She hurried inside and collected her few belongings, including 'Guillermo' and his slapshod modem. "Let's go!" she said. "What are we waiting for?"

"We can't take the car. There's only one way out with it, and it could be blocked…"

"So…then what?"

Oliver looked in the direction of the woods.

"You're kidding…"

"Come on, or we're both gonna be wearing orange pretty quick," Oliver said, grabbing Garcia by the hand. "We can pick up a car or something on the other side of the woods…"

* * *

"Now, listen up. There's at least one person in there, possibly two or more," Adlington said to his handpicked team of agents getting ready to storm the small house. "We need them alive and talking, understand?"

"Yes, sir," the squad leader said briskly.

"Good. On my mark…"

Just a day ago he'd been nowhere in the search for his missing suspects. Neither his superiors nor his 'benefactor' had been pleased. They had been off the grid for nearly three weeks, with no sign of them coming or going from _anywhere_. Adlington had even managed to wrangle the best techs in Quantico together to scour the internet for traces of their meddling, but to no avail. One of the techs being 'assigned' to the case, a man named Kevin Lynch, even seemed like he was trying to do everything _but_ locate the missing suspects.

_I'll look into him later,_ Adlington thought. _Right now could be my chance… _

He counted down from three, very slowly, then let the squad do their work. He disliked actually performing violence onto other people, preferring to get people to do that sort of work for him. Adlington liked grilling people better, using intimidation to get what he wanted. He'd tried the tactic on Josh Hollenbeck, to no avail, and had even tried to bully that long drink of water with the New Orleans accent into talking. The Southerner never bit.

_Looks like I've got Hollenbeck now,_ Adlington happily chortled to himself. _Why we didn't think to look into his holdings before…_

Within the course of ten minutes, the entire property had been cleared. "There's no one here, sir," the squad leader informed him. "Someone _was_ here, though, but not in the last three hours or so."

"Three hours? You're positive?"

"There's a fire inside, coals are warm but not red. I'd say that's your timeframe—three to five hours."

"_Dammit!"_ Adlington swore. He cursed a few more moments, then composed himself. "Spread out, search the woods. I want people looking at that car and that barn with magnifying glasses the size of Venus."

The squad leader barked out a few orders, and immediately five agents went into the woods to scour for any sign of the missing fugitives.

Adlington himself strode into the tiny structure, taking note of the few dishes that lay unwashed in the small sink, the two giant beds that looked as though they'd been slept in and the pail of water sitting near the fireplace. He stuck his own hand inside the opening, only to find that the squad leader had been correct—the coals were still warm, but not burning.

_They can't have gone far,_ Adlington thought. He pulled out a cell phone and tried to make a call, only to find that his phone didn't get cell service in this particular spot.

_Oh well, _he thought. _It's just as well, and possibly better. Finally I can question that fat asshole the way I like…_

The squad leader called out for him, and he strode out to the porch. "What is it?" he asked.

"Sir, we're gonna have to take this car in to determine the owner. The VIN number's been removed, as well as the license plate. Forensics is gonna have to take this one…"

"Fine. What about the barn?"

"Doesn't look like anyone's been in there for at least six months," the agent in charge of that operation said. "Nothing's been moved, no signs of people being in there…"

"So they stayed to the house," Adlington concluded.

"Looks that way."

"And the woods?"

"Still searching…"

"Well. We'll find them. They can't have gotten far…"

* * *

Garcia remembered why she liked not having to go into the field with the rest of the team. There was too much that could go wrong when someone went. She trudged her way through the clearer paths that cut through the thick forest, following Oliver as if her life depended on it.

"This way," Oliver pointed, showing a nearly sheer wall of dirt they'd have to crawl up. "Over that, and we can walk into town."

"Over that?! Are you crazy?"

"Well, there is the rope bridge, but they'll have people all over that…"

Garcia gulped. "Let's go," she said.

The two had to take their time making their way up the steep cliff, but fortunately there were a series of exposed roots that served well as footholds to help them climb. After about twenty minutes, the two hoisted themselves over the edge and stood up, brushing the dirt off of their already worn clothes.

"Well, we already looked like crap," Garcia said.

"Good thing, huh?" Oliver managed a small smile. He held out a hand for Garcia, and the two managed to make their way into the tiny town below unnoticed.

"So, now what?" the tech asked.

"There's a guy in know in town," Oliver explained. "Met him about a year ago, when I spent some time up here. Told me if I wanted to borrow his car, or the chainsaw, or whatever, I could, whenever I needed. Finally going to take him up on the offer."

"You're gonna take his car?"

"Actually, I'm hoping to take his boat. The boat will get us nearer to a bus station or something, where we can blend in. We'll use the water to find a busy marina."

"Can you actually drive a boat?"

"Sure. Went on them all the time with my dad. He taught me."

"Um…"

"What?"

"Uh, I can't swim. Not very well."

Oliver looked at his friend. "Don't worry," he said as he walked through the deserted yard and up to the private dock.

The boat was nowhere to be found.

"Where is…" Garcia asked, nearly frantic, looking over her shoulder.

"I don't know. Maybe not in yet. We don't have time." He led Garcia back through the yard and crept into a giant garage, finding a waiting pickup with the keys left inside. Oliver scribbled a note to his friend, telling him he'd 'borrowed' it, then fired up the engine as Garcia got in the passenger side and carefully drove through the little mountain town, hoping to avoid being seen.

* * *

Emily woke up again, her eyes dancing over the sunny yellow wall color in the room she'd been calling 'hers' for the last three weeks. Though she loved this room, she was beginning to miss the light blue walls of her bedroom at home, and the option of wearing pants out of her own closet.

"My mother is a very traditional Chinese woman," Mo Li had said when Emily asked about possibly getting a pair of pants. "A pair of pants on a woman would not be heard of."

"Chase Davis wears pants," Emily countered.

"Yes, but as far as my mother is concerned, Chasie is a woman doing a job that is 'highly irregular' for a woman. The demands of her profession call for it."

"And ours doesn't?" she wondered, a polite smile breaking across her face.

"Well, to be honest…no," Mo replied. "Your profession is mostly mental, therefore it can be done in 'proper dress'. At least, that's what she thinks."

Emily really couldn't argue. After all, though she liked getting into the thick of things as much as everyone else, Madame Li did have a point.

After a shower and getting dressed, she walked downstairs to breakfast and then headed back into the drawing room to consider yet again who might be trying to destroy them. Chase Davis met her in the hallway as she walked towards the makeshift 'war room,' her red Mandarin-collar shirt looking very much like the ones the guys wore.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey yourself," Emily replied.

"Come take a walk with me," Chase suggested, in that way that sounded like a suggestion but was more of a request.

Emily stopped, looking down the last five feet towards the drawing room. "We really should…"

"Emily, you're going stir crazy," Chase said. "We all are. I thought discussing things while on a walk on the grounds would at least give one of you a change of scenery."

"It would," Emily said, her eyes now trailing back to her friend. "It would."

Chase led Emily out towards the gardens, and soon the two women found themselves wandering among the neat bushes, tiny tea roses, and other assorted flowers that were being carefully tended by an army of gardeners. As one trimmed a giant bush into the shape of a panda, they both stopped to admire the man's handiwork.

"**Very nice," **Chase said, her Cantonese getting better the longer she stayed. **"It always amazes me what can be done with time and patience."**

"**Miss Charlotte, you have none?" **the gardener asked, a small smile on his face.

"**Very little, or so it would seem sometimes," **Chase replied. She then smiled as she and Emily took off in the direction of the tall grass. They walked for several minutes before Emily asked a question that was now bothering her.

"Who's 'Miss Charlotte'?" she asked.

"Me."

Emily's eyes widened.

"Yeah, it's my real name. Don't tell anybody," she asked, her eyes practically imploring. "Madame Li calls me that, though, and the servants likewise. I'm really rather impressed, considering the servants don't usually use 'real' names for the 'upstairs people.'

"I've noticed the classes here…"

"Same as anywhere, really, but there's a lot more tradition to it. Good servants try to reflect well on the house of their employers, and they are best when they are rarely seen and never heard. Still, though, you want to find out anything, just keep your ears open—the 'downstairs people' learn more than we do, I think."

"So, no names, huh?"

"Nope. It's like code, so that if there is a 'scandalous' story about the family or a guest, it stays within the 'downstairs' society; never tainting the 'upstairs' reputation." The two women began wandering in the waist-high grass, just enjoying the midsummer sun. "Apparently a few of them are scared of Hotch, in any case. I've seen the serving girls give him a wide berth—they say the 'statue man' is 'cold and scary'…"

Now Emily had a chuckle. "If only they knew…"

"Yeah." Chase smiled too. "Those same girls are always making an excuse to go by Morgan and Reid's rooms—poor Han Wei's been chasing them off nearly every night, and the other day he dressed down two of the girls for loitering next to their front door. Said if he caught them near there again, he'd put them on report.

"What do they call them?" Emily wondered, her mind happy to be thinking of things other than the problems at hand.

"Call them?"

"Yeah, the 'code' thing…"

"Oh." Chase smiled. "I think Morgan is 'the nightingale," and I know Reid is the 'very tall angel.' He got that after what I did to the Ambassador and Mo in the city…"

"Oh."

"Yeah.

Just then Chase's cell phone went off. "Chase Davis," she said.

"Miss Davis?"

"Yeah, go ahead…"

"It's Will."

"Will?" Now even Emily's eyes looked up in wonder. "What's going on?"

"That guy Adlington, he's pissed…hauled Josh Hollenbeck off for questioning downstairs somewhere…"

"My money's on Josh, but I'll bite. Why?"

"I guess Garcia and some guy named Lawrence, they were staying at a place he owns up in the mountains somewhere. And before you ask, no, they're not here—they got away, I guess, if that guy's temper was any sign."

Chase heaved a sigh of relief. "I'll tell Mo. He'll be over there in a couple of hours. Tell Josh…"

"Oh, there is no amount to what Josh is saying, I'm sure…"


	17. The World in a Closet

**Thanks for the lovely reviews!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

"Where are they, Hollenbeck?"

Josh didn't answer. He'd spent the last five hours arguing with this impossible man, telling him for what had to be the eight hundredth time that he had had _no_ idea that anyone had been staying at his cabin.

"I 'ave told you, I do not know," he'd said about fifteen minutes ago. "I myself 'ave not been there een eight years."

"But someone's been up there?"

"Bah. Eet ees like speeking to a breek wall!" Josh had snapped.

Now he merely stood mute. If Adlington thought he was giving anything up, he was sorely mistaken.

"Fine. I'm placing you under arrest."

"On what chairge?"

"Aiding and abetting federal fugitives." Adlington smiled smugly. "Unless, of course, you've decided to say something…"

"Bah." Josh folded his arms across his chest—a sign to those who knew him that Josh was just getting started. "You cannot prove thees. For all you know, someone may 'ave broken een. What would I know? I was not there."

"Can you actually _prove_ that?"

Josh smirked a little. "That, sair, ees your responseebilitee. Not mine. You do undairstand the 'burden of proof,' I 'ope?"

Adlington stopped cold. His beady little eyes narrowed further than they had in a long time. This Hollenbeck was better than his average target.

"As for me, I know I was 'ere, in the office, and 'ave weetnesses."

Again, Adlington said nothing.

"I suppose you weel say that _I_ am consorteeng with the peeple on ten, now, just so you can 'ave me locked away?"

Honestly, the thought had crossed Adlington's mind.

"My lawyair weel 'ave you sued, should you consider thees. Your case, sair, ees a witch 'unt."

"Apparently not, as if that were the case, we'd have found proof—concrete, untamperable proof that those people acted in accordance with procedure."

"Procedure. Bah." Josh snorted once. "I do not theenk you know the word."

"You think that's gonna stop me? Your thoughts on my capabilities?"

"Oh, no, sair. What will stop you is when I receive my phone call. Which I would like. At once!"

"When I'm through."

"_Ce'st bon._. I weel be adding abuse of powair to my complaint. I weel walk out of thees room, and speak with someone about thees."

"Prove it. I'm acting under guidelines."

"Sair, I 'ave been detained by hard-line _Soviets _'oo were more accommodating than you 'ave been. Deed Castro 'eemself train you? Or pairhaps Stalin? I cannot be sure…"

"Name calling will get you nowhere."

"Pairhaps. What I do know ees thees: you 'ave no case. Someone was een my cabin. You cannot prove 'oo, nor that I knew about them. For all you know, Mickey Mouse was pairforming _in flagrante delecto_ aftair slipping een. I am quite cairtain the locks 'ave rotted by now…"

The more Josh talked, the more Adlington's case was slipping away. The older agent was right. Josh had enough proof that he was in D.C. around the time of the 'disappearance,' plus they already dragged in his housekeeper and grilled his neighbors. They all said the same thing—Josh Hollenbeck was a creature of habit. At least two of his neighbors set whole clocks by the man. Bottom line: Adlington was going nowhere with him.

"Fine." The younger agent stepped aside and motioned toward the door. "Go on. But I'll be watching."

"Of that, I am cairtain," Josh said brusquely as he stormed out of the tiny interrogation room.

After listening to the sound of heavy footsteps making their way towards the elevator, Adlington heaved a frustrated sigh. He knew that Hollenbeck knew something—he just couldn't prove it. The man was much smarter than he'd given him credit for. The detective from New Orleans was also a dead end—Adlington thought for certain he would break, but he genuinely looked concerned about the welfare of the missing suspects, plus he could give no details on where any of them might have gone.

Just then the phone rang.

"Adlington."

"There has been no progress," came a smooth voice from the other end. It was Adlington's 'benefactor.'

"No, sir. But I'm still looking. Something will turn up."

"No, Adlington, I'm taking this one to another level. I suggest you focus your efforts on the next portion of the plan—once we find them, we'll have to make sure they can't escape again, won't we?"

"Yes, sir." God, there were days that that voice could get creepy.

"Very good. Now, if I were you, I'd look a little further into Miss Davis and her 'team,' if you will. I think you might find them most helpful in securing a lead towards our 'mutual friends.'" The line went dead after that.

Adlington took a deep breath. Then he called up to his office.

"Robards."

"I need you to run files, two of them. Have the tech people go through them with razor-fine combs."

"The files?"

"Yes. Anything you can find on a Chase Davis and an Oliver Lawrence. They're considered accomplices after the in the disappearance of our suspects…"

* * *

Kevin Lynch really hated his job right now. He'd been dragged out of his office in IA to 'go help' in the search for the missing team from the BAU. Lynch knew better than to protest—that creep Adlington was better connected than he thought—but Kevin also knew that the team was simply not capable of doing what they were accused of. Especially not his beloved Penelope…

And yet, here he sat, rotting away at a terminal that wasn't his own, searching for people he didn't really want to find. Strange as it seemed to him, he felt that the team was safer running than being found. He typed in yet another set of codes to search phone records for the seven missing suspects, hoping that one of them was both smart enough to stay off their cells and yet stupid enough to leave one lying in the middle of a desert in Arizona somewhere, just so that this Adlington creep would be satisfied and leave.

"Lynch, I need you to run these names," the second in command of this operation, a man named Robards, said. "Brass man says they're top of the list."

Kevin took the names. "And the results?"

"He wants them delivered personally. Like I'm not capable of handling a simple search…" The tone of voice from Robards told Kevin that the man hated Adlington just as much as anyone did—except, of course, the 'people who mattered.'

Kevin shrugged in a sign of solidarity, then looked at the scrap of paper. The two names on it were enough to make his eyes turn to saucers, and he worked hard to suppress an amused chuckle.

_Boy, this nut Adlington really wants to play hardball,_ he thought. He typed the two names into his system, knowing full well from the incident several months back that little would be found through the normal searches.

And Kevin wasn't feeling particularly helpful at the moment…

* * *

The isolation was beginning to grate on Morgan's nerves. It wasn't like him to sit in a hole and hide while someone else was actively trying to destroy his life—he wasn't that kind of guy. He wanted to be out there, in the field, turning over rocks and breaking down walls, looking for answers. The fact that he couldn't leave was driving him crazy.

"Morgan, calm down," Reid told him one night. "We're working as best we can."

"On what? I've gone through those files nearly two dozen times, and there's not _one_ thing that stands out! We're spinning in circles, and there's nothing we can do about it!"

"So going _out there,_ where we know people are looking for us armed with _shotguns_, that's a _better_ idea? Being thrown in prison, with _no_ access to information or help of any kind, that's how we're going to solve this?"

Morgan's rage simmered, but was not boiling over.

"I get it, Morgan. You feel useless. I do too, right now. I've read the same files, talked over the same likely suspects, tried to find a lead or shred of proof that will hold up in court, but we're just not finding it. That doesn't mean it isn't out there…"

"Seems to me like someone's done a hell of a job of framing us for this."

"I think we'd all agree there."

"Then what are we missing?"

Reid shrugged his thin shoulders. "I don't know. But I'll try to figure it out in the morning. I'm going to bed." He bid his friend good night, then walked in the direction of his room.

Morgan, on the other hand, couldn't sleep. He had too much pent-up energy to even think of sleep now. He decided to head outside for a long walk.

After making his way down the hall and through the back entrance (startling a pair of serving girls in the process), Morgan let the cool night air wash over him. Reid was right. He was frustrated. And worried.

_If we can't figure out who's doing this, then what? We can't stay here forever…_

Morgan began running smaller bits of the information he'd pored over for weeks in his head. He tried to recall even the most minute faces, or people that hadn't been a concern at the time. Nothing stood out.

_This is pointless,_ he thought. _And there hasn't been any news from Kyle Parker…_

Were it not for Kyle, the team and Chase would have had less access to information than they already did. He was taking on a big risk, acting as the 'go-between' for both the team and his boss here at the estate and the many friends and operatives that were working on finding more information. Chase spent nearly half of her life on the phone, and the other half in the drawing room trying to piece together the events of that day in Roanoke.

"I can't find it," she kept saying. "It's right there, staring at us—but we're not seeing it."

_At least court isn't an issue anymore, _Morgan thought, relieved to have that monkey off of his back, if briefly. Because the team had officially 'disappeared,' there were warrants out for their immediate arrest should they be caught. Mo Li had told them about it three days after they arrived.

"Technically, you've 'escaped,' so there's no point in holding a hearing," he explained. "The upside to this is that I can devote more time to doing research with you here; the downside is that once you leave these grounds, even so much as an inch, you can be arrested and charged with escape."

"So we're screwed," JJ had said, putting it rather bluntly.

"I believe that is the term," Mo said.

"We've just swapped one prison for another," Morgan himself had pointed out.

"Yeah, but here you're not getting attacked, or hurt, or threatened in the middle of the night," Chase had countered. It amazed him how she knew what she did sometimes. "But let that be my problem. You focus on finding the evidence, I'll control the home fires, okay?"

There was nothing else the team could do. Right now their lives depended on the kindness of others, and each one was grateful that this much could be done for them, even if they didn't always show it. Morgan remembered the screaming matches Hotch and Chase had had the first few days, when the world kept getting smaller around them. He remembered himself walking past the ladies' rooms only to stop because he thought he heard someone crying. The young lady in charge of looking after them, Song Fei, explained that it was just a small matter, and was being taken care of.

"Miss, I understand that, but I want to go in and talk to them myself," Morgan had tried to explain.

Song Fei shook her head. "I cannot," she'd replied simply. "Not in their bedchambers."

It amazed Morgan how very polite the society was in this small corner of the world. Normally he would have just bowled over the young woman and gone to see what the matter was, but after a few minutes of trying to convince Song Fei that he wasn't trying to be 'immodest,' Emily walked out and quickly explained things."

"JJ's just worried the baby will come, and Will will miss it," she'd said. "I think the cabin fever's getting to all of us, the isolation."

"You're sure that's it?"

"Well, she misses Garcia too, and she's now nearly two weeks late," Emily had said. "The stress isn't helping, I can bet…"

"No kidding," Morgan concurred. Finally there had been a soft _creak_ at the door, and JJ peered out, her eyes surprised to see Morgan standing in the yellow parlor room.

"Hey," she'd said, trying to hide the fact that she'd been crying. "What brings you here?"

"JJ, are you okay?"

"Yeah. Just stress. I just want this to be over."

"Me too," replied Emily.

Morgan had agreed.

Now he was standing near the tall grass, close to the pond he'd found Chase sitting next to on their first day here. He looked out as the water shimmered with stray rays of moonlight, casting a gray shadow that floated overtop the glassy surface. He heard a voice crossing faintly over the small pond, full of worry and emotion.

"How is he?"

Silence.

"You're with him?"

More silence.

"I can send…"

Silence again.

"Whatever it takes, Will. And thanks."

Then there was a huge sigh. Morgan thought that the weight of the world was released from that single breath.

"Hey," he called out, noticing a familiar young woman sitting on a wrought-iron bench.

"Hey yourself," she said. "Been there long?"

"Long enough. What's going on?"

Chase sighed. Her face said that there was something she wasn't sharing.


	18. Chase's Dilemma

**Thanks for the reviews! Please remember to read Ch. 17!**

**See disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

"What's the matter?"

"Makes you think something's wrong?" Chase smiled, though it wasn't very convincing.

Morgan chuckled a little. "You _do _know you're dealing with people that can tell you what you had for breakfast this morning just by noticing what color you're wearing, right?" Though his humor produced the intended effect, both he and Chase knew it was nerves and anxiety that caused it.

Chase sighed. "They've picked up Kyle. That guy Adlington has him for questioning."

"How?!"

"Must have started going through our stuff, Ollie's and mine. The tax records, business license, you name it—all public record."

"Your files…"

"Kyle knows where to keep backups. I'm pretty sure he used his 'secret weapon' to combat such breaches. Means I'm buying new computers as well…"

"Why new computers?"

"Cause a giant electromagnet usually fries the old ones."

Now Morgan laughed. Kid was smart, he'd give him that.

"And that's just the icing on what _else_ has been going on." Chase's face looked like she regretted saying it the minute she did, but her nerves were as shot as anyone's.

"What else is there?"

"Nothing. Never mind."

"Un-uh. What?"

"Morgan, there's nothing you can do…"

"Tell me. Right now." The look on Morgan's face said he meant business.

Chase stared out at the water again. "Just before they picked up Kyle, he sent a message. Adlington tracked Oliver and Garcia, and they just barely escaped. He was supposed to go get them, but then…"

"He got picked up," Morgan finished.

"Yeah. Now I've got them both out in the wind, and I need to bring them in. But it won't be easy…"

"Can't you go and get them?"

"Honestly?"

Morgan didn't like where this was going.

"I can't leave either. For many of the same reasons you can't. And if you don't know how much that's killing me…"

Morgan tensed. He knew, but he wanted to believe that the young woman would be able to 'pull a rabbit' out of the proverbial 'hat' just one more time.

"This is ridiculous!" he snapped.

"Morgan, calm down. I'm working on it. Do you _really_ think I'd leave Oliver and Garcia to hang? If there was something I could do about it?"

"I know. I know, it's just…"

"You want to help." Chase looked at him in the eyes, and saw the built up frustration and worry that lingered there. "We'll figure this out. No one's that good at a frame up—you should know that by now…"

"Easier to say than believe at this point. The little bit of evidence that clears us can also be used _against_ us. Even the 'visits' in prison…"

Chase nodded her head.

"You know about that?"

"More than you'd think."

His face turned incredulous. "How do you _do_ it?"

"Trade secret?"

Morgan nodded.

"I had someone in there with you guys. Made reports to me, so I could keep up. Was when I decided that if you needed to be sequestered, it had to be on our terms—not whoever's behind all this. And don't worry—those operatives were doing me a favor…"

"You're gonna owe half the world when this is over."

"Only two thirds. I had to send one of them over to Nevada to look out for Reid's mom."

That thought bothered Morgan. "You think they'll go after our families?"

"I think whoever's behind this isn't gonna stop 'til you're caught and in prison, where they'll finish you off. And from the looks of things, they're coming after Ollie and me pretty hard as well."

"Ollie?"

"I slipped, called him that once, and he answered. I didn't think he would, being as his sister used to call him that…"

"He doesn't mind?"

"As long as it's a friend calling him that." Chase smiled a half-smile.

"I see." Morgan's voice was teasing, but not unkind.

"Still, I've got to get them here, and fast. And I don't know how without drawing attention…"

"There has to be someone that can do it…"

Chase turned her phone in her hand, a worry stone more than a phone at this point. Then she stared at it for a time.

"I've got an idea…"

* * *

Kyle sat in the hard-backed chair, still seething over being pulled out of the office on Postman Ave. some four hours ago. He was still sitting there, in the cold concrete room, waiting for this asshole Adlington to show up. He'd had letters from Josh Hollenbeck and Will LaMontaigne that said that he liked to handle interrogations personally.

_Let's see him try this one himself,_ Kyle thought smugly.

He checked his watch. It was now nearly ten o'clock. He hadn't even had the time to lock up, and he hadn't been offered his one phone call. Kyle didn't think the phone call was coming anytime soon, but he had seen Will in the hall on the way in, and he took one look at who Adlington's people were bringing in and made a call to somewhere.

_Hopefully to Chase, or Josh,_ Kyle thought. _I'm gonna need Mo now as __my__lawyer…not like the man hasn't got enough on his plate._

He was sincerely grateful that he didn't know where Chase or the BAU team was at the moment. He knew about the 'disappearance,' as did everyone, but after that he was as in the dark as the authorities were. Chase did it on purpose, so that those looking for them couldn't use Kyle as a way to get to them. She'd learned her lesson well several months ago, when Kyle had been used as 'leverage'…

--I'm taking no chances again, Kyle,-- she'd said. –If anything should happen to you…I'd never forgive myself.—

--But I should help,-- Kyle countered. –I mean, there has to be something I can do, other than the computer stuff…--

--Well, we've got Oliver now,-- she'd said. –He'll help in the field, and we need someone to coordinate all of that. You think I can manage a bunch of people on my own?—

Kyle had agreed. Consequently, he got much better at multitasking and keeping information from getting in the wrong hands.

_Adlington's gonna be pissed when he has the techs working on our computers,_ he thought. _Funny what a large electromagnet can do when thrown…_

Just then a rush of cold air blew across his face. Kyle looked up and saw a short, round little man with a bushy mustache and beady little eyes that were flaring like a bull's nostrils.

The man said something. Kyle couldn't make it out. His mustache got in the way of his lips. He shook his head, pointing at his ears.

The man said something else. Kyle still couldn't make it out. He pointed again at his ears. "I'm deaf," he said, hoping his voice was thick and extremely fuzzy.

Now the man grew angrier. He threw his hands up in the air, then pulled out a pad of paper.

_Where is Oliver Lawrence?_ Kyle read as the man scribbled the short note. He shrugged his shoulders. He didn't know.

_Where is Chase Davis?_ Again, shrugged shoulders. He didn't know that either.

_I suppose you don't know where my missing suspects are, either…_

Kyle shook his head.

_I think you're lying._

--And I think you're an asshole, but we won't go there.—

Kyle watched with some amusement as the man tried to figure out what he'd just said.

_I'll be back,_ the man wrote.

Kyle brushed him off with a hand. –Take your time. Looks like I'm not going anywhere fast.-- He then put his hand to his ear in the shape of a phone. The request was unmistakable.

The man simply left, slamming the door behind him. Kyle could feel the vibrations as the door collided with the frame.

_Back to staring at walls,_ the young man thought. _This is gonna be a long night…_

* * *

Will LaMontaigne was pacing. The last few weeks had been havoc on his already thin nerves. Neither JJ nor her friends were anywhere to be found, and there was an all-out manhunt looking for them; the man from counterterrorism, Josh, had been accosted and bothered by that little pest Adlington enough times to make the man wish Josh would knock him to his senses, and now one of Miss Davis's people was hauled in for questioning. Will had met Kyle once, and liked him; therefore, he did the honors by calling his boss and apprising her of the situation. JJ had kept the number for Chase Davis on her desk, and Will pocketed it before her office could be searched.

Just then the phone rang. "LaMontaigne," he answered.

"Don't say anything, just listen," a voice said on the other end of the line. "A mutual friend needs our help, and you need to disappear for a little bit. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Now, there's a little town about three hours from the city, Point Albion, in Pennsylvania. It's just on the coast. Drive there, and you'll find two packages you'll need to pick up."

"What am I…"

"You'll know when you see them. There's a truck waiting, so that's taken care of. The directions are programmed into the GPS system inside, so that's settled too. Can you do this?"

Will hesitated. What if this was a trap?

But the thought of being able to help…

"Yes," he said slowly.

"Okay. Tell Josh Hollenbeck he'll need to look in on Kyle Parker—he'll help there—and get out as soon as you can."

Will agreed, then hung up. He made a quick stop to Josh's office on fourteen—calling he man was too risky at this point, with the extra surveillance on him—and then made for the nearest back exit. He was careful not to be followed.


	19. Interrogation

**Thanks for the lovely reviews!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

Petr hung up the phone. He'd managed to find this LaMontaigne's number from the very colorful woman sitting nearby underneath the awning on the beach. It was now eleven o'clock at night, and the only people in sight were Petr and his 'packages'—one Oliver Lawrence and one Penelope Garcia. Both looked as if they'd been chased out of a rabbit's hole, and Petr had said as much.

"You don't know the half of it," the woman replied.

"I'm sure I don't. Now, if only this man would get here soon…I have to be elsewhere, for this business."

"Where?" the younger man asked.

"Roanoke," Petr said simply. Both 'packages' looked like they understood though that simple word. "It seems there's not enough proof?"

"You can say that again," the woman said. She was trying to keep quiet, despite the roar of the ocean breaking across the shore. Petr watched as she began shivering uncontrollably due to the cold wind that was blowing over the Atlantic.

"Here," he said, draping a worn denim jacket over her shoulders. I hope he hurries…"

"It's three hours from D.C., and I'm sure he left as soon as he hung up," the younger man replied. "We could just wait in the truck…"

Petr didn't like that idea. Though it was a common looking work truck, someone could try to tow the thing, with them inside it. Or worse, someone could decide it was suspicious looking and call the authorities.

"Not safe, at least, not yet," he said, his slight Ukrainian accent coming through. "We'll wait."

"How'd she find you, anyway?" the younger man asked.

"Explain 'find'."

"How does she know you? Working, obviously…"

"She, ah, helped me get some important information to FSB once," Petr explained. "I had trouble and she was working nearby."

"Uh-huh." The man looked like he knew where that was leading.

"And you?" Petr asked. "Parker I know about, but…"

"Nine months ago I got 'recruited' by people plotting to blow up some diplomats. They kidnapped my little sister, and used me to kidnap Chase."

Petr smiled. "Interesting. She allowed this?"

"Didn't have much choice at the time, if you follow me…"

Petr did. "Only explanation for it."

"Anyway, I couldn't go back to my old job, so she kind of 'hired' me. Been working with her since."

"Um, hello? Trying to keep a low profile here!" the woman squeaked, her anxiety obvious.

"Garcia, we've been waiting about half an hour. We can't get in the truck and we can't leave, and there another two and a half hours to go. What do you propose we do in the meantime?"

"I don't know, but not just chat as if there's nothing to worry about!"

Both Petr and the young man sighed. "Desk jockey," he said half-jokingly, pointing a thumb at the woman.

"Lot safer than this espionage thing…" the woman pouted a little. "I could be home right now, warm, dry, possibly in the middle of a massive Halo session…"

"Or you could be in jail, with about thirty other women who'd just as soon jump you for your shoes as look at you," the younger man countered. "We're going somewhere where we can lay low for awhile…I hope…?"

Petr shrugged. "Where she is, I guess." He looked at his watch. I wish he'd hurry…"

"Me too," both of his 'packages' concurred.

* * *

Adlington did indeed come back. He brought an interpreter from the fraud division who was somewhat fluent in sign language. He wasn't taking any chances with this Parker kid—he wanted answers, and he was as good a source as any…

"Now, where is Chase Davis?" Adlington asked.

--Not here. I have no idea where she went.—

"None at all? You boss leave you alone in the office a lot?"

--She's the boss, like you said. I just take the names and run the computers.—

"What about Oliver Lawrence?"

--He's gone too. On assignment somewhere. Private client.—

"Client's name."

--Can't give it to you. You know better.—

"That's not privileged information."

--Fine. Government contract. Classified. Happy?—

Adlington really couldn't argue. He knew just what 'classified work' could entail, and what it could mean if he tried to pry further.

"You worked several months ago with a team out of our Behavioral Analysis Division. What was that about?"

--We had a series of murders on our campus in Campbell, Virginia. We couldn't solve them, nor did we have any clue as to why the victims were turning up with no tongues or hands. My boss called them up, asked if they could help.—

"Did they?"

--Yes. We caught the guy.—

"Was that the last you saw of them, after that case?"

Kyle thought about this a minute. He didn't want to tip his hand.

--Some of them found they liked our town, come to visit. Not illegal.—

"That's all? Visit?"

--Yes.—

"How do you know Oliver Lawrence?"

--Chase hired him.—

"So just through work?"

--Yes.-- Kyle knew enough to keep mum about the case that brought Oliver into their lives. Too many unanswered questions there…

"You haven't consulted with the BAU on any other cases?"

--No.-- This wasn't technically a lie. _Chase_ had, but personally, not on a 'case' per se. It had been a little bit of a give-and-take, but on friendly terms.

"You've had no contact with them, other than on the street, in the last year?"

--No.--

"During your case, did you suspect that the members of that team might be trying to focus on things unrelated to the case?"

--No.—

"Not anything?"

--Well, there was one hand of euchre…-- Kyle smiled sweetly.

Adlington chuffed. His eyes grew beadier.

"Was there, at any time, anything that happened that seemed out of the ordinary?"

--I don't follow…--

"Like there was some other reason that they took your case?"

--Couldn't tell you. I mean, I can't hear things…--

"Nothing seemed out of the ordinary?"

--What are you getting at, sir?-- Now it was Kyle's turn to glare. –If you're suggesting that the team was trying something underhanded, I highly doubt that. You _do_ know the particulars of our case, right?—

"Vaguely. Something about mutilated bodies."

--That's right. Killed, then staged to look like the character Lavinia from Shakespeare. There were eight victims. My boss is pretty good at her job, and I am at mine, but we'd never seen anything like that. Those folks at the BAU, they see that kind of thing all the time. My boss figured that they'd have a better perspective on it than we had.—

"And you found your killer?"

--Yep. Kid named Jeremy Brennan. One very sick individual. I expect you've had words with him?—

Adlington let that slide. He had no intention of following up on that case.

"No contact in a year, then?"

--Not professionally. We've been over this. Now, do I get my phone call, or can I go? I've been as helpful as I can be right now, and it's nearly three in the morning. If we're gonna be here longer, I'm taking a nap.—

Adlington let out a sigh. He couldn't keep him, but he planned on keeping the computers they'd taken the Davis woman's offices.

"You can go. But stay close. And we're keeping your computers."

--What reason?—

"Evidence."

Kyle worked hard not to smile. –Fine. But I want a receipt.—

"You'll get one."

The door opened, and Adlington waved a hand towards the open walkway. "Go on, get."

Kyle walked quickly up the hallway and headed straight for the elevator. He used his cell phone (which had been returned by Adlington's interpreter) to send a message to Josh Hollenbeck.

_Josh—_

_Need to talk. Where can we meet?_

_Kyle._

He sent the message and hurried back to try and catch Will. Just as he was about to get on the elevator, though, his PDA vibrated.

_Mr. Parker—_

_I will come to get you. We'll talk._

_J. Hollenbeck._

Kyle read the message and frowned. _Why come to get me? I can just get a ride from Will…_

* * *

Will turned down yet another winding path. It was nearly three-thirty in the morning, and he was trying to find a spot on a map that just barely existed. The few signs that lead to Point Albion were few and far between, and it took a sharp eye just to catch some of them beneath the thick tree growth that lie at the base of a lot of the roads. In the distance the lights of small houses twinkled along the side of a giant mountain face, with small roads that twined around the stony cone that stood out from the flattened earth.

_Where is this beach?_ Will wondered. _I could swear I've passed like twenty miles of shoreline…_

Just then he saw a dark shape sitting next to a lonely awning, like a stop on a road that lead nowhere. From behind the giant shape came a person waving a hand through the car headlights.

"You Will?" a voice asked. It had an accent, though Will couldn't place it.

"Yeah," he said, his drawl growing deeper the more tired he got. "I'm supposed to pick up some 'packages'?"

"Here you go," the man replied. "They're in the truck. Just drive this to the spot on the GPS, and you're there. Oh, and put this on." He handed Will a uniform of some sort.

"What's this?"

"Camouflage. Need to look like you belong. You can change in the back."

"What about…"

"I'll take it. It's going on a trip to Roanoke, then we'll drop it by your house when we're done. All right?"

Truth be told, he didn't like any of this. The hiding, the secrets, the fact that his best girl and all her friends were either being hauled in for questioning or on the run somewhere. But there wasn't a choice.

"All right. Hang on until I change, all right?"

The man nodded, handing over the uniform.

Will walked towards the back of the large truck, pulling open the rolling door. What he saw inside were dozens of bags of linens—and two faces he knew extremely well.

"Hey, Will," one of them said. "Long time."


	20. All Together

**Thanks for the lovely reviews! Be sure to read Ch. 19!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

When Oliver stepped out of the back of the laundry truck, he felt like he'd walked into the land of Oz. A pair of cherry trees were in full bloom, standing out against the backdrop of well kept lawns and bushes. He dusted his pants off, and fished a stray sock out of his pant legs.

Behind him, Garcia managed to make her way from out of the massive pile of linens and sheets to stand just outside the truck door. "Where are we?" she asked, wondering just where she'd been hauled to this time. Wherever it was, it _seemed_ nice…

"Some big house, I guess," Will said, climbing out of the driver's seat. He looked different in the overwashed gray uniform he wore, but there had been little incident when trying to get through the front gates. The guards had checked Will's bona fides, then gave a look of knowing and waved him through—as if they'd been expecting him…

The three 'lost children' managed to make their way up to what looked like the front door, and Oliver rang the doorbell. A prim looking butler opened the door.

"Yes?" the little man answered, his neat dress and appearance making him look like a live, round version of a Weeble People figure.

"Packages," Will said. He remembered what the man on the beach had told him to say. "Someone needs to sign for them…"

Just then the sound of quick footsteps came to the door. A young girl, no more than maybe nineteen, hurried to the front, saying something in a language none of the people at the door recognized. She quickly turned and said, "Come, please," and beckoned them inside.

Inside the three stared as they walked underneath a massive crystal chandelier, hanging down from a cream colored ceiling that stretched the length of a quarter of a football field. Dark, expensive looking wood runners lined one of the walls, and on this stood several china figures, all looking hand painted and representing various people in different costumes. At the end of the hall stood a large receiving room, with a tall, winding staircase. The little woman led the three past this staircase and were headed into another room when suddenly a voice called out.

"Thank God!" the voice cried, smiling warmly and taking quicker steps down the stairs. "I was beginning to think you'd gotten caught…"

"Chase, now would we go and do that?" Oliver said, smiling as his friend gave him a warm hug. "Come on…"

"Oh, it's been hell," Chase replied. "Every time we get somewhere, it pans out, and what we do have can be explained away, and that's not squashing the fires that asshole Adlington's setting at every turn."

"Speaking of, they had Kyle Parker in for questioning last night," Will said, extending his hand. Chase gave him a hug too.

"I know someone who'll be happy to see you," she said. "And thanks. I can't leave this place, or I'd have come to get them myself…"

"Well, I get why they can't, but…"

"This guy Adlington, he's got it bad for me and Chase," Oliver explained. "I don't think he'll stop 'til he gets us all…"

Chase greeted Garcia warmly. "How's things?"

"I've been living in the same outfit for three weeks. I sludged through the woods, climbed tree roots to escape a crazy man and spent the night freezing to death or being thrown around in the back of a truck. I'm terrific." Though the last couple of weeks had taken a toll on the poor woman, she was beginning to look a little more relieved.

"Well, I've got something that will cheer you up. Breakfast, anyone?"

All three 'packages' jumped all over that. Oliver felt like he hadn't eaten in days.

Chase said something to the young woman who'd led them in, and then escorted them to a dining room with a very large table. There were already ten plates set out, and Oliver noticed a serving girl rushing in with three more settings.

"Did we crash a party?" he asked.

"Well…you'll see. Try the rice biscuits, they're pretty good…"

The four of them sat down and began availing themselves of the food that lay on the table, just waiting to be eaten. Though Garcia found several dishes she'd never seen before, she did notice that pancakes were available, as well as miniature waffles. She helped herself to a few of these, then hit a bowl of strawberries hard.

"There a strawberry famine I don't know about?" Will chided gently, having reached for the bowl only to find it empty.

"Shut it."

No sooner than had Will picked up the empty container did another one seem to magically appear, and the empty one taken from his hand.

"Thanks," he said, turning to look at the serving man who had replaced it. The man tipped his head politely and smiled, but said nothing.

"So how far have you gotten on clearing everyone?" Oliver asked.

"Like I said, not far. I was hoping you had better information…"

"Adlington's definitely shady. I can't put my finger on it, but he's working overtime to try and pin us for this, and that means you and me as well," Oliver said. "In fact, it's as if he likes us for it too, but can't prove anything because we weren't there in Roanoke at the time."

"Figures. I've been racking my brain trying to figure out who could have it out for us, as well as the others. I'm drawing blanks at the moment."

"Could it be a cross-reference between you all that we haven't thought of?" Will asked.

"Could, but then why go after the team first?" Oliver asked. "It'd be a lot easier to come after Chase and Kyle and I first, then try to pin whatever they do to us onto the team later…"

"Don't be giving people ideas," Garcia said. "Next thing you know…_oh_!"

The other three at the tale turned their heads towards the sound of footsteps—a lot of footsteps…

"Garcia!" JJ cried out, rushing over towards her friend and pulling her into a great bear hug. "Oh my God…"

"Long time," Emily said, also pulling Garcia into a hug. "Are you okay?"

"Baby girl, where've you been?" Morgan asked.

"Out exploring the great wide wilderness with Oliver here," she replied. "And keeping one step ahead of this Adlington freak…"

A dark look crossed every face at the mention of the name.

"But…but…what are you all doing _here_?" Garcia asked. "You're supposed to be in Philadelphia…"

"Change of plans," Reid quipped, smiling a little at the way things had turned out.

"No kidding!"

"Seriously, the plans changed," Morgan seconded. "We thought we were going to court, and then we ended up here."

"Garcia," Hotch said, looking his usual self despite the hint of a smile on his face. Garcia stopped and looked at her boss, dressed in very different clothes than what she was used to seeing him in.

"Brooks Brothers go out of business?" she said, unable to stop herself.

Now everyone laughed, especially Rossi, who had tears streaming down his face.

"I'm so sorry!" Garcia cried, chagrined. "I didn't mean…"

Now the party laughed even harder. "Stop, Garcia, please," said Emily, who was trying to catch her breath. "I can't take it!"

"But I was just…sir, you look very nice…blue-gray looks good…"

The room erupted again in laughter. Hotch was still looking sober, but even he was smiling.

"Thanks, Garcia," he said.

As the laughter died down, the rest of the party sat down to breakfast, swapping both stories and information as an enormous amount of food disappeared.

--

Kevin Lynch had to chuckle. Whoever had done this, they were _good._ He wrote up the brief report on the computers taken from Chase Davis and Kyle Parker's offices, and walked it over to Agent Adlington himself—per his request. He stopped at the man's door, tapping on it as he could hear snippets of a phone conversation coming through.

"No, the Parker kid couldn't tell us anything…no, I don't actually think he knows, his boss is too smart for that…They're _somewhere_, sir, I just…okay, if you think that's best. Uh-huh. Okay." As soon as he hung up, he called out, "Come in!"

Kevin walked timidly through the doorway, his glasses set slightly askew and his collar not quite as neat as it could be. He walked over to Adlington's desk and handed him the report.

"What's this?"

"I-it's the report you wanted, sir. On those computers?"

"Oh. _Oh!_ Very good!" Adlington said. He scanned the two page report, then barked, "What do you mean, 'unviable'?!"

"Sir, we can't get so much as a 'Made in Taiwan' sticker off those computers. They were wiped, and from the looks of things, professionally, too. My guess? Someone connected a pretty strong electromagnet to their network and flipped a switch. Killed their machines, all of 'em."

"But…there has to be…

"I'm sorry, sir. Here's his receipt."

The sigh of exasperation that came out of the round little man was one that made Kevin think he was blowing his top.

"They want to play hardball, do they? Well, we'll see who wins this round." He turned up at the tech standing before him. "I want taps put out on all their phones. _Now._"

"Do we have proper documentation to…"

"We'll _get_ it! Just put them out—and add Kyle Parker, Joshua Hollenbeck, that lawyer and that Southern gentleman LaMontaigne to the list. _I want them found,_ is that clear?!"

Kevin looked at the man as if he was possessed—which, arguably, he was. "Yes, sir," he replied, hastily turning for the exit.

"And pull cell phone records on all of them, too. I want a look a those personally."

"Yes, sir," Kevin replied, though deep down he really didn't want to comply.


	21. Kyle's Letter

**Sorry for the short chap. More later--I promise!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

In a high glass office, a slender man sat facing a gigantic night landscape. The soft lights that illuminated the small lot beneath him cast a glow over a wide swath of dark forest that sat silently to one side of the massive complex. It had taken some doing to get the site up and running again, what with the damage caused by the last occupants, but then, a steady flow of cash always seemed to get the job done—and fast.

The man stared out, the sight of the night sky calming to him. For a moment, he let his mind wander to other matters.

_Where are you, little one?_ the man thought, his focus now on a particular woman with bright green eyes and dark hair. _Where on earth are you hiding? You couldn't have just disappeared…not like your 'friends' seem to have done…_

The whole thing was peculiar, and did not set well with the man at all. It had taken months to plan out that little charade over in Roanoke, Virginia; had taken time and planning to find a suitable 'go-between' and, if need be, 'fall guy' should things not manifest themselves as the slender man would like. An ambitious man with little scruples usually fit the bill, and this Adlington was doing nicely.

That is, until his 'targets' escaped. The man knew that the green-eyed woman, one of his 'true' targets, had managed to circumvent him.

_How does she __do__ it? _he wondered. _How can she just vanish into thin air, and take seven people with her?_

He'd thought about taking a harder look at some of her allies, but the documentation on them was few and far between. Between her file and the young man she'd just hired, there was about enough available information on paper to fill a napkin.

The information he gathered through 'other means,' however, was somewhat more promising. He already had reams of valuable background on his prizes, and was prepared to use it to destroy them all.

That is, once he _found_ them…

* * *

Kyle sat at a large, round wooden table, trying to swallow the strong coffee that Josh kept on hand. He liked coffee, but this stuff was enough to knock the wind out of a herd of walruses.

He made a little bit of a face, and set the mug aside.

"You do not like?" Josh asked, making sure to look at his guest. He'd been trying to pick up a few of the 'signs' that the younger man spoke in, especially for such times as this.

Kyle shook his head, then mimed trying to break an iron bar. "Strong," he managed to say.

"Eh." Josh took a long pull from his own cup. "Amereecan coffee…phooey," the older man said, brushing an imaginary bother away from him.

Kyle pulled out a pad of paper. He knew Josh's sign was extremely limited, and his own voice was terrible. _Adlington's getting close,_ he wrote.

_--Yes. This I know. The man won't give up easily._

_I think he might come after us, hard. _

_--If he hasn't already. Small man, big aspirations, that one._

_I'm serious, Josh. I had to kill five computers today, just to hide our files. I wouldn't be surprised if he's got techs over in Quantico tracing our messages, phone calls, emails…_

_--We have a man on the inside there…a man named Lynch…_

_I've heard of him. Garcia vouches for him. _He smiled.

_--A good man. Little strange though. Ah well._

_What worries me is that both Chase and Oliver are MIA, our clients are nowhere to be found, and now I can't even contact the few people we've got out looking over the team's families and whatnot. And then there's our other guy…_

_--You have communication problems?_

_My computers are fried. My backups are locked in a vault in Campbell. I can't use a phone, obviously, and I can't get anyone to use one for me without raising suspicions. Plus, I'm betting all of our phones are tapped—yours, mine, Will's, Mo's…_

_--They've been pulling records, Lynch says. Of phone calls, I think._

_Good luck to them. Our phones use scramblers. It'll look like we've been calling somewhere in Siberia or Mongolia or an island chain in the Pacific…_

_--And your lawyer friend?_

_I think his goes through China, but…_

_--Can you be sure?_

_I can ask. If I send an email to him, it shouldn't look too suspicious._

_--Here, use mine. _Josh handed the younger man a small laptop.

Kyle quickly logged on, set a few 'extra' firewalls, and then sent a letter over to the consulate.

_Mo—_

_Lost your number. Need to get it back. Please write._

_Kyle Parker._

He looked up, satisfied, and then hit 'send.' _That ought to work, _he wrote. _Nothing too suspicious._

_--Let's hope so. Now, where are you staying?_

_I can crash at one of the team's places, I think…_

_--Bah. You will stay here, until things, how you say? Bowl over?_

_Blow over._

_--Yes. That._

_Josh, I can't ask…_

A thick arm stopped the pen from finishing. "I will do this," he said. "Whatever it takes to help those people, and Oliver. I trust you would do the same for Miss Davis?"

_Can you talk to Will, and Mo, and tell them what's going on?_

Josh nodded. _I can send a letter. Does this 'Mo' speak French?_

_I think so. Maybe. Worth a shot._

_--Very good. Now, how to word…_

* * *

Mo Li began checking into the consulate office by email some three weeks ago. Now that his 'clients' were all staying under one roof, it wasn't necessary to go back into town to gather his information.

"What about appearances?" the team's 'head of house,' Agent Hotchner, asked. "Won't it look a little strange that the lawyer for the accused is not looking more actively for his 'missing' clients?"

"Oh, I send notices to the local law enforcement four times a week. I also call them twice a week. By now they're pretty sick of hearing from me, I can bet."

The older man didn't look convinced. It was little wonder that Chase likened him to a 'statue' at times.

"Sir, by all appearances I am really 'doing what I can,' save beating the bushes for you myself. With you 'gone,' there really isn't much for me to do. Now, were you miraculously 'found,' then I'd be more active."

"It just seems like we're getting nowhere, and it seems strange that no one's been out here to ask questions."

"Ah, you're forgetting diplomatic immunity."

"Oh. Of course."

Both men knew, as lawyers, that diplomats and their families had immunity from prosecution—a 'perk' of the job. No one had been out to question the Li's because the American government didn't want to ruffle any Chinese feathers.

"I'm sure I'll be 'asked' to take part in a questioning, though. And go I must—though I have immunity, I must look like I am trying to cooperate."

"Because if you don't, it'll look like you're hiding something."

"It's a fine line we tread, Agent Hotchner."

"I'm beginning to see why she like you."

"Well, our relationship has always just been friendly, sir," Mo replied. "But she fascinates me, too."

"I just hope her luck holds out," Hotch said. "We still have no solid evidence…"

"Maybe something will pan…" Mo stopped as he opened his email. "Huh. Why would Kyle Parker send me this?"

"Would he _have_ your number, normally?"

"Yes. It's in his files…unless…"

Both men looked at each other. Was this a trap?

* * *

The next morning Mo called into the consulate, looking for the origin of the email that he'd opened at the estate the night before. One of the Chinese techs, a man called Ping, replied that the IP address was registered to a Joshua Hollenbeck, and listed his address.

"Can you be sure?" Mo asked.

"Yes. I can track a masking program. There wasn't anything hiding this."

Mo nodded, then thanked the man. He picked up the phone and called Josh, remembering to be careful what he said over the line.

"'ollenbeck."

"Josh, it's Mo Li. I got your letter."

"You have time for lunch?"

Mo checked his watch. It was nine-thirty in the morning. "Yeah, say in two hours?"

"_Ce'st bon._ Name your place."

Mo chose a place not a block from the consulate. Should things get strange, they could seek refuge inside the protected building down the street.

"Very well. Two 'ours." The line went dead.


	22. Volkner

**Thanks for the reviews!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

At precisely eleven-thirty Josh left his office on the fourteenth floor and managed to make his way into the hectic snarl that was Washington traffic. He had left just at the time he was supposed to arrive at his destination, and had made a quick call telling Mo that he would be a little late.

Josh's reasoning for 'being late,' however, was extremely sound. As Kyle Parker had thought, just behind Josh's Lexus were no less than two unmarked cars, both keeping a safe distance.

_And that's just the ones they want me to know about,_ the agent thought. In all honesty, had Josh not been a bit of a paranoid man by nature, he would not have spotted the second tail—they were doing a damn good job of being 'inconspicuous,' whereas the first tail was clearly the 'open' one.

The Lexus made its way around the Beltway, easing off near the part of town that generally housed several consulate offices, including the one for the People's Republic of China. The restaurant that the lawyer had picked was one that was well-known for its authentic Chinese dishes, plus had the added benefit of being located less than a block from the consulate itself. Josh had heard rumors before that there was a secret access tunnel that led from the restaurant directly into the consulate; a relic of when the consulate building used to be a major supplier to a shipping company in the 1920's. The rumors said that the two businesses inside the buildings shipped a lot of bootleg alcohol through that setup…

As Josh walked in, the hostess immediately noticed him and asked him to accompany her. The older man followed as he was whisked into a 'back room' that was set up as a private dining area, and was relieved to find Mo Li inside.

"Hello, Josh," the lawyer said cheerfully. "Have a seat." He said something to the hostess, who turned and went immediately to fetch something.

"'ello," the older man said, just happy to be out of rush-hour traffic. "'ave you been waiting long?"

"Not really. I got that call about you being late. Now, about that letter…"

Josh looked around, worried there might be bugs.

"Don't worry. If this room was bugged, a lot of men in China would be very disfavored by the Party as we speak," the younger man assured him.

"You air cairtain?"

"On my honor, and it's not to be taken lightly."

"Vairy well. The letter from Mr. Parker—a warning. Adlington 'as been relentless. He 'as questioned me, Mr. Parker, the Southern Frenchman, even the dog, were thair one, to find the whereabouts of your meesseeng clients. 'e thinks the phones, tapped."

"I wouldn't doubt it. What I wasn't to see is his paper giving him authority. The man's running around as some men do in my country, merely quashing opponents without any process or cause. Chase seems to think that something is definitely afoot."

"You 'ave seen 'er?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Parker weel be pleesed."

"I'm sure."

"'e 'ad to, eh, 'ow 'e say? 'Fry?' 'ees computairs?"

"Wow. What can you tell me about this Adlington we don't know already?"

"Very little. Much of 'ees records air classified. I could 'ave 'is numbair gotten for you, through a friend…"

"That's a start. Chase seems to think that he's not working alone—that someone else is 'pulling his strings.'"

"I believe that to be true. No man can climb as 'igh as 'e 'as, not without 'assistance.'"

"You don't believe in true genius for a particular job, Josh?" Mo smiled. "After Oliver, Chase, Dr. Reid?"

"Thair air exceptions. Thees man—not one of them."

"I'll grant you that. He's persistent, but not that clever."

"_Ce'st vrai."_

The hostess cam back with drinks, and the tea she brought was accepted gratefully. Josh looked at his dinner companion. "I do not know what is good, een thees," he admitted. He was European by nature, and did not know much of Asian ways or culture.

The young lawyer rapidly rattled off something in what sounded to Josh to be Chinese of some sort. The hostess took the order, then scampered off.

"Eef I may…"

"Oh, I ordered the house speciality," Mo told him. "I think you'll like it…have you ever eaten duck?"

* * *

The man from counterterrorism seemed to be taking forever in there. Volkner sat in the tiny coupe outside a nondescript restaurant, the smell of spice and cooked rice wafting through his nostrils every few minutes. He didn't particularly like stakeouts and tail work, but this one was a high priority to his boss. Something about finding specific targets…

The fat man casually walked out of the restaurant, looking well-fed and pleased. What concerned Volkner now was not the tubby Hollenbeck, but the leaner and younger companion standing next to him on the street. The two spoke only briefly, then Hollenbeck drove off. Volkner watched as the lean Asian man walked nearly half a block, carrying a briefcase of some kind that was partially open, then entered the consulate building next door.

_Consulate building, huh?_ Volkner thought. _I wonder…_

He pulled out his cell phone, and made a quick phone call.

"Yeah, it's me. That lawyer, he's working out of the Chinese consulate building here…uh huh…okay, I'll keep on it. Let me know if something changes? Right."

Volkner sat in the car, settling in. At least this time the seats were comfortable…

* * *

Six hours later, the lean man emerged out of the consulate. Volkner pulled out just three cars behind him, and casually followed as the little Hyundai pulled into Beltway traffic and headed north. He wasn't worried about losing the man as he drove, as he'd gotten more information on him as he'd waited for him to leave.

The man in the car was Li Mao Xiong, a Chinese national and licensed to practice both criminal and inernational law in the D.C. area. His father was Li Xiao, a diplomat with the Chinese government, and while the young man kept an apartment in Georgetown he also spent quite a bit of time staying with his parents at the consulate grounds in southern Pennsylvania. Should Volkner lose the lawyer, he cold try staking out that area next.

_Come on, pal,_ the experienced tracker thought. _Where are you hiding them…?_

* * *

Mo pulled onto the consulate grounds, mindful of the extra security that had been in place the last several weeks. There were now four guards at the front gate instead of the usual two, and everything was codeword-admission only. The words changed twice a week, and they were always in Chinese—thus preventing anyone but a member of the household or an invited guest from entering. Mo eased into the long drive, knowing full well he'd have to stop and give his codes just to enter the grounds.

At the gate, a tall man stopped his car. Mo gave the correct code, and was allowed in. The guards went back to their watch, keeping tabs on eh roaming patrols that were constantly guarding the perimeter. The electronic security had also been enhanced, and there were more cameras and lights now working than had been in the past.

One of the guards, a man called Lin, thought about how much stricter it was becoming to come to work each day. He knew, as did the other guards, that it was the Master's American friends that were the cause behind the security and the long hours, but he also knew his place. However, he sometimes wished that the Master would once listen to the complaints of the delivery people and the gardening staff, who did not live on the premises, as they had to be scrutinized each morning and night before leaving for home or the next delivery.

_**It is not for us to say,**_ Lin thought as he continued his watch. _**At some point, things will return to normal…**_

* * *

Just at the base of the driveway, Volkner parked the car near a grove of willows that hid the car well out of sight. He managed to walk part of the way up the drive before noticing the enormous gate and the presence of guards. Noticing that there was a tall brick wall forming a perimeter of sorts, Volkner followed it until he could make out a spot clear of watchful eyes. He crept up to the wall, managing to scale it just enough to get a glimpse inside.

There were acres of grounds. The tiny glimpse of the house he managed showed that the place was more of a combination palace and fortress. There had been three guards that Volkner could see near the front entrance, and roving lights proved that there was a patrol constantly keeping watch. There was no barbed wire at the top of the wall, but he was certain that the second his feet hit the ground there would be lights and sirens.

_They're keeping something here, that's sure…_

Just then two figures emerged out from the front entrance. One was a little woman with blonde-like hair, wearing a dress that looked like it could eat a football field. The other was a man who looked like he'd blow over if a strong wind hit him just right. Volkner watched as the pair made their way towards the east grounds, taking note. The man had slid his arm around the little woman's shoulder, and another had patted her midsection—it was a big as a house.

_One of those 'people' is pregnant,_ Volkner remembered. _And that particular one is a blonde…_

_Hmm. _

Volkner pulled out his cell phone. He knew his boss would want an update.

* * *

**A/N: For the Josh fans out there, I have a oneshot involving him posted now on FictionPress. It's called "Squeak," and can be found in the Humor section under my name.**


	23. A Rock and a Hard Place

**Thanks for the reviews! **

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

Clever.

It was the only word he had to describe it. Clever.

He had not counted on the woman making use of good connections and the law. He had thought he'd had his targets sewn up, using that very law to isolate and destroy them. Now it was being used against _him_ and his carefully-laid plans.

There was no hope of threatening the Ambassador, nor the lawyer—diplomatic immunity made that route quite impossible. Such a plot could backfire in his face, as it had those before him.

No. This would require some finesse.

And perhaps an ear willing to be bought…

* * *

Adlington stood outside the gates of a large estate in southern Pennsylvania, staring at the four men who were denying him access to the grounds. The occupants of the house had been (presumably) sent for, and now he was forced to wait for them to arrive.

The short little man was seething. Here they'd been, all this time…

Just then a neat looking man arrived, followed by an older gentleman. Another pair of familiar faces walked with them, their faces set and determined.

"So," Adlington said, as if the weight of his voice on the word meant anything.

"Yes?" the lawyer—"Mo" Li—replied.

"I should try to charge you with aiding and abetting. I could at least have you disbarred."

"On what charge? None that would stick, I assure you."

Adlington hated being proved wrong. "You think you're clever, Davis," he snarled, tossing the epithet off towards Chase. "Using friends to hide you and yours…"

Chase shrugged. "You'd do the same, I'm sure."

The man's beady little eyes traveled over towards Hotch, who had insisted on going to the gate with Chase and the Li's. Chase had tried to talk him out of it, but as he said, "I'm not going to be cornered by some bully who thinks he's got us."

"And you…"

Hotch said nothing, neither in word or gesture. Chase knew, however, that the man was keeping both his anger and his worry well-hidden.

"I suppose you and those others in there are perfectly willing to stay there, eh?"

"As long as need be," Hotch said firmly.

"And he will have it," Ambassador Li said. "The People's Republic of China has granted them sanctuary here, for them and Miss Davis's people. We happily give this."

Adlington snorted. "I bet," he said half to himself.

"Now, seeing as the persons in question are on Chinese soil, and are committed to remaining here until this 'matter' is resolved…"

"Only one resolution, far as I can see."

"In that case, we have work to do. My apologies." The small party turned on their heels and began to leave.

"Davis!" Adlington called out.

The party stopped. Chase turned. "Yeah?"

"You can't save them, this time. We _will_ take them back, and, as you say, 'resolve this.'"

Chase merely tipped her head. "If you say so. But good luck with that."

The party then started back up the driveway.

Hotch was the first to speak, as soon as they were safely in the wide receiving hall. "Chase, we can't stay here indefinitely…I mean, _we're_ safe, but some of us…"

"Right now I've called in some big favors," Chase replied. "I can pick up that phone and tell you what your son and ex-wife are up to, where Emily's parents are, what Morgan's mother and sisters are having for dinner tonight and what lecture Mrs. Reid is 'giving' today. I also know that there are three people watching JJ's family here in Pennsylvania and making sure that they make it on time to practice."

"But we can't put other people's lives on hold…not for this!"

"I'm going to tell you something that you probably have already figured out but don't want to admit—those people, like yourself, really don't have a life outside of work. They're people like Oliver. Like me. When we go home, there's nothing there. No family, no significant 'others,' nothing. The few friends we have are close, but not that close. When I die, Agent Hotchner, the only ones who will show up will likely be the Parkers and Oliver, if I'm lucky."

Hotch stood back and looked at this young woman, her face sad but determined. Was this what he himself was like, in the eyes of others?

"Eventually, we have to go home."

"I don't disagree. But not the way you're thinking. Now, I have a man in Roanoke now, and I'm supposed to conference with him later. I imagine you and yours would care to join me?" Chase relaxed a little, but her guard was definitely up.

The thought of gaining more information was intriguing. "All right. I'll tell the others."

"Thanks. I'll go set up in the drawing room…and send Garcia—she'll know how to hook up that computer better than I will…"

* * *

Adlington was pissed. He'd had his best weapon—prosecution—flaunted at him as if it were a discarded rag. There was no way he could touch them, not on those grounds.

_I'll have to lean harder on Parker and Hollenbeck,_ he decided. _Somehow she managed to get them there, and I'm going to figure out how…_

In the meantime, he organized a squad of his own, telling a team of twenty-four men to work in shifts around the clock, waiting for the moment that even one of them stepped foot outside the consulate grounds. "We can't arrest them, as long as they're on Chinese soil," Adlington reiterated into the phone to the squad leader. "The minute they cross that gate, though, they're ours. Check every truck, every person that comes and goes—I really don't care who you piss off, and if you do, so much the better."

The squad leader affirmed his orders, then hung up. Adlington relished the thought of sticking it to those foreigners who thought they could circumvent him.

_A week of such scrutiny, and they'll have the help begging to kick them out,_ he thought.

* * *

In the guardhouse, Lin took an important call from the young Master. **There will be trouble, Lin,** Mo said. **The Americans will try to cause problems outside the gate. Whatever happens, **_**do not let them in.**_** Check every gardener, study the faces. They may try to sneak inside to take the guests. Do you understand?"**

"**Yes, sir," **Lin replied. He then hung up the phone. Already the gardeners were at their wit's end, hoping that the Master could find some way to help the American guests and prevent the added security, but alas, it was not to be—at least, not yet. He got up from the guardhouse and made certain the other guards knew of the added measures.

_I hope that the American guests find what they are looking for, and soon,_ Lin thought. _I know at least three of the gardeners are getting restless…_

* * *

That afternoon Chase was sitting out by the pond again, very discouraged. Her conference with Petr—whom most of the men on the team recognized from his earlier 'assignment' in Philadelphia—had not gone well.

"There is nothing here, Chase," the Ukrainian man said. "I've searched every inch of what's left of the building, and found nothing. There might be another way, though…"

"At least you can think of one. I'm running out of ideas," Chase said.

"Those safe deposit boxes—the ones that were supposedly targeted—maybe there's a way I cold find out what was in them?"

"I doubt it," Rossi had said. "Classified documents?"

"Yes, but in my country the classified documents are often kept in vaults within the agency buildings. I trust yours would be kept likewise?"

"Wait a minute," Hotch had said, looking almost chagrined. "You're saying that we've been missing the obvious…"

"Yes. I do not think those boxes were filled with 'government documents'; or, if they were, they weren't very important ones. Do you know where I might be able to find the original owners of the boxes?"

Garcia then fired up her small laptop. "Looks like those particular boxes were numbered, kinda like a Swiss bank? You'd have to have some pretty convincing credentials to get that kind of information…"

Petr smiled. Deep cover was his specialty. "I can get that. Can I get the numbers, miss?"

Garcia rattled them off, making sure Petr could write them down in the room in Roanoke he was staying in. "I'll ring Anya," he said. "She'll want in on this."

"Hey, Petr?" Chase said.

"Yes?"

"Thanks. I owe you guys big on this one."

"No, you don't. We're even for that time in Switzerland." Petr then signed off.

"Switzerland?" Rossi had asked, trying not to sound like he was prying.

"I lead a very interesting life, Agent Rossi. Let's leave it at that."

That statement led to a few raised eyebrows and a couple of thinly muffled chuckles.

Still, however, though Petr and Anya were hard at work, Chase felt useless. She was stuck, and her people were stuck too, doing nothing when they should be out there beating bushes.

"Oh," a voice said, startling her. It was Oliver, who'd come out with Dr. Reid."

"Hey," Chase said, then seated herself at the farthest end of the bench. "Have a seat. I'm just in a mood, is all."

"Same here," said Oliver. "After three weeks of fun and excitement, as well as Kyle's input three times a week, I'm finding I'm really not being very helpful right now."

"You two are at least _doing _something!" cried Reid. "We're here, not able to leave, and can't stay forever…I mean, they've probably thrown my mother out of care at this point, and I can't go get her, or pay her bill, or…"

"Don't worry about it," Chase said.

"I _have_ to worry about it!" Reid said stubbornly. "I'm sitting here with a proverbial sharp pendulum over my head, and I can't do anything to remove it…!"

"Your mom's fine," Chase said. "The bill's paid, and she's being watched. I promise."

"How?! I mean, I know they froze my account after my arrest…"

"Yeah, but they didn't freeze everyone's." Chase stared out at the water, tossing a small pebble into it.

"I don't…"

"Reid, _we've_ been paying the bill, me and Chase," Oliver said finally. "You can thank us later, after we're done saving you from going back to Philadelphia." Oliver knew that wasn't _entirely_ the truth, but it was close enough.

"What do you mean, she's 'being watched'?"

Chase explained to the resident genius the intricacies of 'sanctuary law' and how people like Adlington couldn't get to them. "On the other hand, they can 'entice' you to do take even one step outside the perimeter, and then you're caught. By now that fat creep's got probably three dozen agents just waiting for you guys to make a move."

"My mother's in danger?"

"Nah. I've got people on her. Believe me, someone'd be stupid to try anything…Danilo especially has been wanting to try some of his moves out for a long, _long_ time…"

Reid breathed a little sigh of relief, but then realized something. "You're going broke," he said.

"Reid, I've got plenty of cash. I'm not worried."

"Then you're calling in a lot of markers, and on our account."

"I harbor the hope you and yours would return the favor someday."

Reid just stared. _Where does a person like her come from?_ he thought.

Just as the dun began sinking in the west, Chase sighed and stood up. "Time for dinner," she said. "Plus we have to get the three of you situated," she added, pointing at Oliver. "Madame Li is a very traditional woman…"


	24. Prelude

**Thanks for the reviews!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

It had been seven weeks now. The team was still nowhere close to finding the proof they needed to clear themselves, even though Chase's 'contacts' were still out scouring every inch of questionable ground they could find.

"Petr's still working on those boxes," Chase had said the night before. "Whoever signed them out didn't want anyone to know who took them, that's for sure."

"Why do you say that?" Emily asked.

"Because the 'government' names that were on the signature cards were fake," Chase explained. "They all traced back to places like the FBI or Department of Labor or something like that, but the actual 'name' on the card was fake. It was supposed to lead to a government building, then stop there. No one at any of the buildings that were listed had ever heard of that particular office in Roanoke until Petr and Anya told them about it."

"So were back at square one," Morgan said, his chopsticks falling to his plate.

"Not exactly," Oliver said. "People working that hard to hide their identity usually slip up at some point. We follow the trail on these boxes long enough, and we'll find what we need."

"You don't sound so sure."

Oliver heaved a sigh. "Well, that's usually the case. This particular individual, however, seems to be taking a lot of precautions to avoid doing just that. We're going to have to hope he _does_ slip up—it might be our only chance."

The certainty of Oliver's statement started to weigh heavily on the group. It seemed like the harder they worked to try and find evidence, the farther and farther away clearing their names seemed to get. The rest of the meal was finished in silence, and many just decided to go to bed for the night.

JJ walked down the long hallway, taking slow, careful steps. Both Emily and Will had decided to run through a few more leads with Garcia in the drawing room, and there was no one else staying down this hallway. Oliver and Will were put near the rest of the men, and Chase's room was left empty—stemming from a decision to go back outside and think awhile.

The long staircase seemed even longer that night, as it took nearly as much energy to walk up the steps and ascend onto the hallway. JJ was panting as she finally hit the last stair. A wave of pain coursed through her entire body, starting at her stomach and working its way outward. She nearly collapsed onto the floor, crying out as she did. There was an odd smell that filled her nostrils, and when she looked down she saw a large dark spot forming underneath her.

_Oh, God, _she thought. _I can't do this…not now…_

Another wave of pain snapped that thought into the land of the impossible. This time JJ couldn't help but scream, and she landed straight on her backside.

_Okay, _she thought determinedly. _I can do this…I just need to get back to my room…_

The question of 'how,' though, became an issue. The pain was almost unbearable, and her legs simply couldn't gather enough force to lift herself back into a standing position. JJ panted, trying to catch her breath, and attempted to push her legs upward so as to right herself. Within seconds she fell again, the hard floor connecting with her side.

Gritting her teeth, the little woman decided that she would have to _crawl_ in order to reach her room. She got herself situated on her hands and knees, feeling the brush of carpet tickle across her stomach, and took slow 'strides' in order to balance out the motion and the pain that was getting worse.

"Miss?" a voice called out. JJ stopped briefly to see the face of Song Fei, hurrying over and looking concerned.

"Please, I just need to…" The sentence was cut off by another cry of pain.

Song Fei understood. She reached down and tried to lift JJ onto her feet, but even with her strength the young woman couldn't manage it. She called out, in that strange Chinese language that was spoken here, hoping that someone was nearby.

**Help! Anyone?! **

The cry was answered, again in that strange Chinese.

**What is it, Song Fei?**

**The sparrow, she is due—send for Mother Ling at once!**

There was a sound of activity as something was picked up behind a door and spoken through. JJ still lay on her hands and knees, ready to try and move another inch towards her room.

"No, miss, you must not move," Song Fei said, her English clear. "We are sending for someone to help…"

"I want to go to my ro--" JJ was stopped yet again as the pain intensified.

"Of course!" the servant replied, and she again called into the room across from them. **"Help me get the sparrow to her room!"**

Instantly two serving girls were picking JJ up, helping her to balance on her feet and walk the remaining fifty yards to the quarters she shared with Emily. Each step was torture, but JJ knew once she could collapse into bed she could focus on what was going on.

Soon a flurry of faces were coming up the stairs. "**Song Fei, what is…" **a little man said, whom JJ recognized as Han Wei.

"**She is due, Uncle," **the girl replied. **"Her friends…"**

Han Wei sent out orders for the team and the Li's to be notified at once. **"Have you sent for…"**

"**Yes, she is coming," **replied Soo Yanglin, the serving girl who had placed the call.

"**Very well. I will send for towels, blankets, whatever is required. Keep me posted, and I will bring the others into the parlor…"**

"Will? Garcia?"

The household staff looked on at the little woman, trying to keep herself together but still calling out for those she loved.

"**Come," **said Song Fei at once, and the three women hastily carried JJ into her room and stripped the bed of its overwraps.

* * *

"Come on, there must be something we're missing," Will said, trying to keep his calm while studying the information they had.

"Well, we've been over it a thousand times," Emily replied.

"Both mentally and in cyberspace," Garcia said, siding with her friend.

"Still, it's not a coincidence that they're going after the likes of Chase and Oliver but framing you all," Will argued.

That point had been the topic of much debate. Chase reasoned that whoever was after the team knew that the Trio would come to their aid, and possibly was trying to silence both.

"The question is, why?" she'd mused, and there no one could come up with an answer. They'd gone over the Brennan case, and even the cases where their paths had crossed briefly before their meeting—but came up with nothing.

Just as another small argument was about to ensue, a serving man ran breathlessly into the room. His English wasn't the greatest, but it wasn't hard to figure out that something had happened.

"Little woman, she is coming," the man repeated. "Please, you must come…"

"Whoa," said Garcia. "What 'little woman?'"

"Friend," the man said, his face in earnest. He made a motion around his stomach, as if to make it wider. "Coming…"

"The baby?" Will asked, now understanding.

"Yes, baby."

The three bolted out of the drawing room and down the hall.

* * *

In the kitchen, Hotch was nursing a large cup of hot tea. He hadn't been able to drink coffee since he'd left Philadelphia—if you could call what they'd had there _coffee_—and was learning to make do. The Chinese tea they served her was fairly strong, and it seemed only Reid could tell that it wasn't the same as their usual form of caffeine.

"Hotch," Rossi said, pulling a chair up.

"Hey," the younger man said, still staring into the bottom of his cup.

"Rough day?"

"I can't get my head around it, Dave," Hotch replied. "We've been over those files and information so many times I think we're missing something blatantly obvious. And there's nothing left to work _with_…"

"I know the feeling. Now I'm glad someone else is looking at it—gaining a new perspective on things…"

"Took you a while to learn that one."

"Yeah. Old habits," Rossi concurred. "But I'd have never solved that case in Indiana if I hadn't let someone else have a try."

Both men shared a small smile. There had been little to smile about over the last few weeks.

"What's bugging you?" Rossi asked, using the same quote the two shared when they knew something was bothering the other.

"This," Hotch said. "Right now I'm literally at the mercy of others, and though they're all trying their hardest, I still feel like someone's going to come in and 'entice' us off this property."

"You're worried they'll find a way."

"It's not hard. Find a person's weak spot…"

"And you've got leverage. How many times have we used that to _our_ advantage on a case?"

"I don't even want to think about it."

"You're worried about Jack."

Hotch lifted his head. "He's still out there, vulnerable," he replied. "One second away from Haley would be enough…"

"You think she'd let him out of her sight?"

"No. Nor do I think she'd use him against me. We might have our differences, but…"

"Hell, more amicable than my last divorce," Rossi said. "I think she'd have used just about _anything_ to get more out of me than she did."

"But it's not just me," Hotch said. "Emily, Morgan, JJ, Reid—they've all got family out there too, and any one of them could be used as leverage…"

"I thought you said Chase had taken care of that."

"She said she did, and I even spoke to the people watching over Jack and Haley," Hotch said. "My question is, how well does she know these people? What's to say that they can't be bought or turned?"

"There isn't."

"There you go."

Rossi stared at his younger colleague. "You know that young woman's going crazy trying to keep things safe for us so we can focus on the important thing—finding a way to beat this," he said gently.

"That's the other thing," Hotch said. "I mean, she's a friend—hell, a good friend, and the others too—but she's acting as if her own family were being attacked. I didn't think we'd gotten that close…"

Rossi had noticed that too. He remembered something from the Brennan case, though…

"I don't lose people."

"Huh?"

"That's what she said, after that Brennan kid took Reid. 'I don't lose people.'"

"She did?"

"Yeah. She said it again after the thing with the diplomats. If I were to guess, she's making sure the people she cares about don't get hurt."

"Well, I care about my people, but…"

"There's the difference," Rossi pointed out. "Your idea of 'people' and hers is vastly different. What do we know about her?"

"She's extremely intelligent, and adaptable."

"Uh-huh."

"Makes good use of connections."

"We've witnessed that."

"She knows how to hide, whether from the law or from a person or in plain sight."

"Yep."

"Something she said…"

"What?"

"She doesn't have any family. Like me, she said."

"Like you? But you have family…"

"Yeah, but if you take Jack out of the equation, what's left?"

Rossi thought about that. "I see her point."

"Both of us really don't have anyone, except the people we work with."

"'Family' in its own right."

"It is…"

Suddenly the light went on in Hotch's overworked brain.

"That's it. Family."

"I'm not following…"

"Her 'people' are her family. Oliver Lawrence. Kyle Parker and his family."

"Those people that own that restaurant Reid and Garcia are always going to."

"And us."

"But why us?" Rossi asked.

"I think because we see things the same way she does, even if our methods are different. Plus, I think there's something else…but I can't put my finger on it just yet…"

Just then a serving girl raced into the kitchen. "Come, please," she said, her motions beckoning them from the table.

"What is it?" Hotch asked.

"Your daughter, sir…" the woman replied.

"Daughter?" Now both men were confused.

"She is having the baby…"

Both Hotch and Rossi flew from the table and raced for the stairs.

* * *

Morgan and Mo Li were in the garden, discussing some things that had weighed heavily on the former's mind the last few weeks.

"What happens to us if we _can't_ find any proof to clear us?" the agent asked.

"Well, that begs the question: _did_ you do this?"

"Of course not."

"Then there must be proof of this. Of that, I am certain."

Morgan heaved a great sigh. "I don't know anymore," he said, not wanting to admit defeat but knowing that there was only so much that could be done. "I just…wish I could go out there and _help_…"

"It is my belief that whoever has orchestrated this would like you to do the same thing, Agent Morgan," Mo said simply. "Only they would be more concerned in imprisoning you and, from what Chase and Oliver say, ending your lives rather than leaving you to rot."

"She's so convinced that that's the case…"

"She tells me that 'certain things' happened while the lot of you were in Philadelphia," Mo said. "I am for certain about the attack on Miss Jareau, as well as what almost happened to Dr. Reid…"

That surprised Morgan. A _lot._

"How did you…"

"She had that man, Petr, working for her. Also the woman Anya, a cousin of Petr's. She knows them, somehow, and on friendly terms. It was they who got the information out to her, and then to me. I was on my way to have you all moved to another location when she said that something else had happened…something she did not share with me."

"Huh." The woman never ceased to amaze Morgan.

"She hinted that whatever the second thing was, it was not good," Mo said. Morgan knew the man was politely fishing, but not trying to look like he was.

"It was a photograph. Someone, probably Adlington's people or whoever's pushing his buttons, slipped it into Rossi's cell. When we got it, we were told that she'd lost the baby…"

"Now that part Chase _did_ share. But there's something else, isn't there?"

Morgan fell silent.

"I see."

"No, I don't think you do."

Mo led the man over towards a bench that stood between a large azalea and a tea rose tree. "If I may?"

Morgan remained silent.

"From what I understand, it was _you_ who managed to stop the attack on Dr. Reid," Mo said gently. "I'm not quite sure how, but you did. From what I understand, you fought rather violently in order to take the attention off of the young doctor and focus it onto yourself. That took courage, from where I stand."

"I couldn't let them…"

"I understand."

"No," Morgan said, now looking hard at the lawyer. "You don't."

"But I do now. I am not as slow as some would like to think."

Morgan fell silent again, but was glad that Mo hadn't made him say it.

The two men sat looking at the tea rose tree, letting the night creep up on them.

"Maybe things will look better in the morning. I hear that Oliver has offered to make dinner, to give the household staff a bit of a break."

"Maybe some good news will pan out for us," Morgan added.

"What bothers me is that Oliver has asked that we help with this 'dinner,'" said Mo. "I'm not much of a cook."

"I can make a decent salad," Morgan admitted. "And a cookie, if it comes from a box."

"Yes, but Chase has agreed to help too," Mo explained.

"Is that bad?"

"Let me put it this way—I think your Dr. Reid would be better in a kitchen than she is," the lawyer chuckled. "I know for a fact she's burned out several ovens, blown up seven small appliances and that her godfather redid the kitchen at least twice during the time she lived with him."

"Jesus," Morgan said, chuckling himself at the thought. If that was the case, it definitely made Reid look like Gideon did in a kitchen, and that was saying something.

"Strategy, information gathering, slight espionage—all this she can do," her old friend laughed. "But put her in the same food with raw ingredients, and she'd starve to death."

Now the laughter could be heard from just inside the back entrance. A maid followed it to find the young Master and one of the Americans in an uproar, holding their sides and trying to catch their breath.

"Sir," the maid began, knowing her place but also knowing the importance of her task.

Mo brushed a stray tear from his eye. "Yes, what is it?"

The maid then spoke in the house language. Mo's face slackened quickly, and he rose to his feet as though they were being taken from him.

"What?"

"It's Miss Jareau…"

The two men hurried as the maid led them towards the room.

* * *

Chase was sitting under the willow out by the pond. She was getting discouraged. But something Oliver said tonight was making her think…

"_There was something Kyle said, about a place in Silver Spring…Lincoln something-or-other…"_

The name escaped Chase. However, she believed that if they could find out the full name, or the significance, everything would fall into place.

She was racking her brains for the better part of an hour when a pair of footsteps walked by. The young woman looked up to find Oliver and Dr. Reid standing nearby, waiting for her to acknowledge them.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey yourself," said Oliver. "Come on in, it's late…"

"In a minute. That thing, from earlier, it's bugging me…"

"Well, there's no way to get word out to Kyle now, and anyway we don't know where he is. One will get you twenty he's being watched by Adlington, and that's not conducive…"

"No shit, Sherlock."

"That's the truth of it, Holmes."

Now both smiled.

"Don't you mean 'Watson'?" asked Reid, not quite getting the joke.

"Nah," the others both said at once.

"Dr. Watson was too much of a pushover," Oliver said.

"Holmes was the real mastermind," added Chase.

"Actually…"

Both Chase and Oliver listened patiently as Reid began a long lecture on the creation of the legendary character by a former doctor from Great Britain.

"Fascinating," Chase said.

"Really," said Oliver.

"Thanks." Reid smiled a little. "First time I've felt like I could help in days."

Both Chase and Oliver chuckled.

"Actually, we were hoping to convince you to _not_ help me cook tomorrow," Oliver said. "I kinda promised Reid here I'd show him how to cook turkey…"

"But I can cook a turkey!" Chase was aghast. "It's on the list…"

"List?" Reid was intrigued.

"Yeah. There's five things I can actually make without mishap, and a turkey is one of them."

"The other four being lettuce salad, a box of cookies, a cracker plate and a can of soup," Oliver chuckled.

"Technically, three of those aren't even 'cooking'…"

"I know. Look, Chasie, everyone's fried," Oliver began. "I'll cook, Reid'll help, maybe one or two of the other's too, and you can, I don't know, provide the conversation or something."

"Can I stay in the kitchen, oh great chef?" Chase said teasingly.

"Sure. Just don't touch anything sharp or hot."

"Oh, boy!" The way Chase said it caused the two men to break out in giggles. "I get to help! Yaaaay!"

Now all three were laughing. "It's gonna be Thanksgiving, at least as much as we can get in a Chinese household in July…"

"Well, Madame Li might be able to give you some pointers," Chase said, now serious. "She's a pretty good cook too, though she doesn't much anymore…"

"I'll have to ask, of course," Oliver said.

"Oh, and let Ambassador Li take care of the dessert," Chase advised.

"He makes good cake or something?"

"Nah, he orders out, but he gets some wonderful stuff," his friend replied. "One time there was this cheesecake-like thing, with cinnamon and almonds…oh my God, it was to _die_ for…and then the chocolates…"

"Note to self: Let Ambassador Li do dessert," Oliver replied, making a 'tally' in the air in front of him.

"I can make a cookie," Reid said.

"I think we're all gonna be making cookies at some point," said Oliver. "Cause I have this thing right now for snickerdoodles…"

Just then one of the serving men raced up to the pond, breathless. **"Miss Charlotte, the baby…"**

"**What about the baby?"**

"**It's coming…"**

Chase sprang to her feet and flew towards the stairs. She raced through the halls, turning towards JJ and Emily's rooms, where a group was already congregated in the parlor.

"She won't let us in," Morgan complained, staring at Will, who looked so worried that he might break if someone touched him.

"What?"

"None of the men are allowed in," Mo explained. "This is a woman's work, and she'll be attended by women. We must wait."

The looks on Morgan, Rossi, Hotch and Will said that they would wait—but under duress. Oliver and Reid caught up finally, and the matter was explained.

"Well, I'm going in," Chase said. She opened the door, and took in the sight of no less than eight women standing around JJ's bed, the woman in question looking determined but very exhausted all at once.

"How can I help?" she asked Madame Li, who was busy organizing the servants within. An older woman was at the foot of the bed, gently saying something in Cantonese to JJ, who looked confused as she held onto both Emily and Garcia's hands.

"She wants you to try and push, now," Chase said immediately, without thinking. Suddenly, she had a job to do.


	25. Celebration

**Thanks for the reviews!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

Nearly nine hours later, little Olivia had been cleaned, wrapped in a soft wool blanket, and had been fussed over by both her parents and her many 'aunts' and 'uncles'. Will took a special delight in holding her, telling her about each of her family members that still waited to see her in Louisiana, and how she would probably become the next diplomat to China or something. The Ambassador and Madame Li both looked on, remembering what it felt like to bring their own son into the world.

There had been something of a weight lifted from their American friends' shoulders, and for a while there was something to think about that didn't involve anxiety, fear, or uncertainty about what might happen in the future.

Oliver himself was now determined to pay special attention to the little girl—after all, she practically had his _name_, of all things—and had had to content himself with going downstairs finally to start making that promised dinner. It was just as well—neither Emily nor Garcia could be torn away from the little girl with newborn blue eyes and a little tuft of sand-colored hair, and JJ was so tired from the whole experience she had fallen fast asleep.

"My parents wish to celebrate," Mo Li told the new parents. "It is a custom in our country to do so when a child is born."

"What? More sake?" asked Oliver, who after two shots was pretty tipsy. Chase was falling-over drunk, and she'd had only two herself.

"No. Dinner, spirits, a day off. I think there might even be fireworks."

Now Oliver had to really get to work, because he was not only cooking for the 'upstairs' people, but the 'downstairs' ones as well. Reid, Chase, Morgan and Rossi followed them.

"Not coming, Hotch?" Morgan had asked.

"Nah. I couldn't cook anyway."

"Then come, please," Ambassador Li said. "You must come to help pick the other things…"

Hotch looked a little confused.

"The wine, the dessert…" the older gentleman said kindly. "This is something the head of house should do…"

"But I…"

Chase and Mo Li had both chuckled. "Ah, let me explain…" the lawyer had said as he'd followed his father and Hotch into the Ambassador's private study.

Downstairs, Oliver was getting a feel for the estate kitchens. _God, if I could design my own kitchen, this would be it,_ he thought happily. Huge built in refrigerators lined half a wall, and the other half held two large walk-in freezers. There was a large island that served as a prep table, and there were no less than two double ovens—one on either side of the large room. Along the back wall lay a range that also produced a grill area and a built-in griddle.

"God, can I die here?" Oliver said, a look of pure happiness glazing over his eyes.

"I wouldn't recommend it," laughed his partner, who was taking her promised seat. "There. I'm set. Now, what's everyone else going to do?"

Oliver looked at his 'kitchen help.' "Okay—how many of you have actually cooked a Thanksgiving dinner before?"

Only Rossi raised his hand, and then slightly. "The turkey came out okay, but don't ask about the rest…"

"Ah-huh," Oliver said. "All right. There should be a casserole dish around here somewhere—they're always putting rice in the thing…"

"This?" Morgan asked, holding up a large square porcelain dish.

"Yep. Now, they said that someone bought the stuff to make this thing, and it's…"

"Here," said Chase, pointing in the direction of the refrigerators and freezers. "They put it away sometime this morning. I asked Han Wei about it."

"Go into the cupboard and grab at least six cans of green beans," he told Reid, who was looking at Oliver as if he'd lost his mind. "And those big cans of mushroom soup there."

As Reid opened the cans and dumped the contents into the large casserole dish, Oliver, Morgan and Rossi each fought with the three large frozen turkeys, trying to remove the little bag of gizzards from each one. The problem with that was, none of the household staff had thought to let the turkeys defrost overnight. Consequently, the birds were as solid as rocks, and getting the little bag out of the bird's cavity was even harder than it usually was.

"Hold still, you little…" Morgan cursed under his breath as the turkey in his hands simply would not cooperate. "Oliver, this isn't working. What now?"

"Well, we've got a couple of options. First one is a hot-water bath…"

"I took a shower this morning, thanks."

"Not you, the turkeys. You immerse them in boiling water to help defrost them a little. There isn't a microwave here, so that's out, and putting the thing whole into the oven isn't an option—the plastic'll melt onto the meat."

"What's the other option?" Rossi asked, still struggling with his turkey. He had gotten farther than th younger men, simply because he'd tried using his hands to warm the cavity opening to make the bird a little more pliable.

"Grab a blowtorch and defrost it _real_ quick."

"That'll cause the same problem as putting it in the oven, though."

"Hey, one year my Dad forgot to defrost the turkey, and Mom was pissed. She made him do just what we're doing, and that was his answer."

"Not much of a cook, huh?"

Oliver laughed. "No. But Mom had just had Sarah, so she was in no mood to cook that year…"

"How'd it turn out?"

"The turkey was roasted to a crisp, the stuffing was drier than the Sahara, the casserole was watery, and the crescent rolls I used later as building blocks. We ended up ordering pizza."

"Sounds like some of my Thankgivings," Reid said. He continued working on the casserole, but was now completely confused when Oliver handed over three cans of something golden brown and crunchy. "What's this?"

"Deep fried onions. They're good—try one."

Normally, Reid hated vegetables. The thought of eating beans mixed in soup made his eyebrows rise. Now he was putting fried objects on top?

Oliver snitched one and crunched happily as he showed Morgan how to set a hot water bath. The two carefully dropped Morgan's turkey into the water, letting it boil around the frozen bird. They set up two more large pots likewise and now just had to wait.

"Now what?" the three agents asked.

"We can start—where's Chase?"

The three men looked around the kitchen, but no sign of the young woman was found.

"Must've gotten bored," Oliver said. "Come on, I'll show you how to cheat at stuffing…"

* * *

The back parlor was a perfect place to hide for a while. Chase had been sitting in the kitchen, listening to Oliver tell his stories about Thanksgiving with his parents, and it made her a little sad. She remembered her Mom and Pop making turkey and drying bread for stuffing—it _always_ tasted like cardboard—and saying grace over the golden brown bird and crescent rolls. It was times like that she really did miss her parents, and she was thinking now about that.

Someone had finally installed a CD player into the back parlor—probably Mo, who liked having a room to play music in—and she perused the small stack of CDs that lined one shelf of a giant bookcase. The great thing about Mo's taste in music was that it was as eclectic as hers was. There were several classical artists, some contemporary jazz, and some newer titles. Chase was particularly surprised to see he'd picked up a couple of albums by Don Henley, and she dropped one of them in the player.

She sat there, in the parlor, just string at the walls for a while, listening to the sounds of the piano, the guitar, the footsteps in the hall, and the sounds of things scurrying about just outside the open window. There was a set of benches that sat just this side of close to the back parlor in the garden, and there were several voices that were speaking from them.

"**She's beautiful, isn't she?"**

"**Yes. A perfect little lark." **There was a small giggle. **"The Frenchman, he could not be more pleased…"**

"**He did not wish for a son?"**

"**Not that any can tell. He can't seem to bear parting with her—not even to the sparrow, who still sleeps."**

Just then another voice joined the conversation.

"**Tell us, how is she? The lark?"**

"**Beautiful. All the fingers, all the toes. Strands of light hair, newborn eyes, and a bright smile."**

There were two distinct sounds—one a delighted squeal, the other a small sigh.

"**Why so down, Yang Linshou? A baby is a wonderful thing…"**

"**The Americans, they are still hunted by those outside. How can they care for a baby?"**

"**This is not for us to say. Miss Charlotte, she will find a way."**

The woman, Yang Linshou, sighed again. **"Perhaps. I hope so, for the little lark's sake."**

_That's a strange thing to think about,_ Chase said. _Most are either happy the baby's come, or are indifferent—but they don't wonder about how to care for it…_

As Chase heard footsteps walking away from the benches, a chiding tone was heard.

"**A sad day for her, it must be, and you say that to her?"**

"**Why sad?"**

"**Yang Linshou, she lose her baby. Three times in three years. She believe she is not meant to have children…"**

A collective 'oh' sprang forth from the cluster of women. **"And her husband?"**

"**Also sad. The last one was a boy."**

Another collective 'oh'.

The music played on, but now Chase began to worry. However, she did not think there should be trouble—after all, she had personally met the woman in question, Yang Linshou, and she was both a good seamstress and a good person. It was not unheard of to be sad for lost children, especially boys, in Chinese culture.

Then Chase happened to glance over at the calendar. The date on the wall—July 24—instantly made her sad, and her mind left the garden and the parlor for a different sort of study—one she hadn't set foot in in so many years. It didn't help matters any that the song now playing was "New York Minute," and the lines she heard were '…somebody's going to emergency; somebody's going to jail."

_Ben didn't go to emergency, _she thought. _He went to the morgue. And no one's gone to jail for it—at least, not yet…_

Though she could hear the strains of laughter and happiness, she decided to sit for a while in this small corner of the world, and remember.

* * *

The turkeys were cooking in the giant ovens, the crescent rolls were being rolled onto giant sheets, the lettuce salad only had a _little _bit of blood in it—the result of letting the accident-prone Reid use a chopping knife—and the casserole and other dishes were being set on hot plates to keep warm.

"Wow," said Hotch, who had walked in with Ambassador Li carrying a giant pile of pastry boxes. "Not bad."

"Seven hours of work, and all you can say is 'not bad?'" Morgan teased, pretending to look hurt. "I work, and I slave…"

"And the thanks will come after we've eaten," Rossi said, now chuckling. "What's in the boxes?"

"Dessert," the ambassador replied, a giant smile on his face. "The order had to be delivered, and they were willing to come out this far…"

At the mention of the word 'delivery,' several heads turned worriedly.

"There wasn't anyone hiding in the back," Hotch said. "The guards at the gate checked, and we cleaned out the rest. Give me a hand?"

The men cleared off spaces on the wide prep table, allowing the Ambassador and Hotch to show off their choices for dessert.

"Whoa," Reid said, looking at several stacks of chocolates, all various types and sizes.

"I'll say," said Rossi, looking at a giant tray of miniature cream puffs and éclairs.

"Hotch, what _is_ this?" Morgan asked, peering down into a box filled with some wafer-thin looking things filled with something speckled with what looked like cinnamon.

"Oh, those are wonderful," the Ambassador said. "The house specialty. I always order when I send out."

"Yeah, but…what are they?"

"Crepes, filed with a cinnamon-vanilla style custard. They're then bathed in a ribbon of chocolate." The Ambassador's face was lighting up like a Christmas tree.

In another box lay a giant sheet cake, thick fudge frosting covering what looked like a yellow style cake.

Still another had brownies, one contained no less than five styles of cookie, and there were even a few dozen pies—apple, pumpkin, and a lemon meringue.

"I had to show him what kind of thing we eat with a Thanksgiving dinner," Hotch explained. "The rest…"

"Will be eaten, no doubt," Oliver said, smiling. "Thank you, Ambassador."

"A pleasure," the man said warmly. "Now, if we are ready?"

* * *

The downstairs people were stunned. None of them had _ever_ expected to be invited to a party that the 'upstairs' people were hosting—and certainly not as 'guests.' The forty or so staff members took turns trying the strange American food, finding that though the bird served was excellent, quite a few thought the stuffing was a little to thick in their mouths for their liking.

To Reid's great surprise, the casserole went over well—too well, in fact. He himself had been convinced to try some, and by the time the giant dish was empty he'd had three servings. There had been corn, squash, and some strange kind of Chinese vegetable that looked a lot like lettuce but tasted like a cross between spinach and water chestnuts.

Oliver was beaming. Though he couldn't stop giving praise to the others who'd helped him, he really shone in his 'other' passion—cooking, and on a large scale, at that!

He'd sidled over to the usual cooks, and managed, in a sort of pidgin sign and broken English, to tell them that though he loved to cook, their jobs were safe. The chefs smiled widely, and bowed politely.

Even JJ had decided to come down, though she was still very tired. Will carried Olivia like he'd found the Holy Grail, and was only too proud to show her off to anyone who wanted a look. Many of the Chinese staff found her adorable, and the women especially were making eyes and cooing over her little face and her hair and her wide smile.

Chase, meanwhile, took part in the festivities, though only Reid and Oliver noticed that something was a little off. She smiled, though, stating that it was nothing, and when she was pressed she said she'd tell them later.

By the time the Ambassador brought out the desserts, most everyone thought there couldn't possibly be more food. The looks on the staff's faces, though, when they found out they were invited to partake in the dessert, were priceless. They'd heard about the Ambassador's baker, and that the man was wonderful, but they'd never _dreamed_ they'd actually get to eat the results of the man's labor! Many of the serving girls swooned over the vanilla-cinnamon crepes, while the serving men preferred the thick slices of pie. Still others attacked the brownies, and Garcia managed to snatch an éclair or two from the last box.

"I heard these were to die for," the tech said, biting into one and looking extremely contented as she did. "And oh, my God…they _are.._"

The Ambassador, who was standing next to Garcia, merely smiled. He was glad that his guests and his employees could enjoy themselves, at least for one night, amidst the dark goings on outside the estate walls.


	26. Beneath the Trees

**Thanks for the reviews! (Now if only the mail server would fix itself...)**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

He knew it would be soon. Volkner had been prepared, and even Adlington had been 'convinced' that this was the best course of action.

_A little leverage,_ he thought. _Just enough to make them move…_

It all now depended on the man inside.

* * *

A week after Olivia arrived, and Will couldn't stop holding her. It became his nightly ritual to take the little girl out for a walk on the grounds, showing her the wonders of a night sky and the world after dark. There were so many paths and places to walk _to_ that the walk never got old—one night he sat on what was commonly referred to as 'Chase's bench' and showed Olivia the wonders of moonlight on water. Another night he walked along a path of tea rose trees, letting the little girl sleep as he took in the perfumed smell. Only yesterday the tiny girl got her first look at a frog hopping towards a small puddle in the tall grass.

On this particular night, while the rest were in the drawing room, taking a conference from Kyle Parker and that strange man Hollenbeck, Will was meandering through a small grove of trees that made the world seem darker than it looked. Nighttime had always been a source of comfort to Will, even as a child in New Orleans—though the city lights had been close by, it had been his custom to walk for miles underneath a blanket of stars, even among the best and worst of conditions.

"You see there, _cher_?" Will said looking at his little girl. "That is one bright full moon. And if we weren't underneath these trees, the whole world could see us."

Olivia smiled, fussed her hands a little, and squirmed to get a more comfortable position in her daddy's arms. It was a wonder that Will's arms hadn't fallen off yet, considering the amount of time he spent holding his daughter in them.

Will continued on his walk, happily talking to Olivia about full moons and the stories they bring—especially for people in his profession!—and let the time slip by without a care in the world.

* * *

The little man crept closer. He knew what had to be done. The thought that kept him going was that of her face, smiling, after so much heartache. He could do this. Everything else was inconsequential.

* * *

The Southerner continued walking, finding the groomed paths growing more twisted and maze-like as he continued onward. "Looks like someone forgot to put down bread crumbs," he said, letting Olivia fall asleep on his shoulder. "Hansel and Gretel I am not."

"Nor would you want to be."

Will spun quickly, ready to take off like a deer, when he realized he knew the voice. "Oliver," he said. "How'd you…?"

"I didn't make close to the top of the counterterrorism unit at 29 for nothing," the younger man said, allowing a chuckle. "I figured this was the last place you hadn't explored, so I came out. Needed to get some air."

"Not going well, eh?"

Oliver shook his head. "No. We're still trying to figure out what the link is between us and this Lincoln thing…I know it's important, but I just can't put my finger on where I've heard it before…"

"My father had the same problem. They tell you how we met?"

"No. Just that there was a case in the Quarter and you were the detective working it."

Will began the long tale of how he'd met the BAU those two years ago, and how they'd managed to find the person wreaking so much havoc through his beloved city. "In the end, I found that cell phones were, in fact, _very_ good for my health," he said, smiling.

"I'll say. Hey there, sweetie," Oliver said, taking one of Olivia's tiny hands into his own. "Is your Dad boring you?"

"Nah. She's taking in the family history."

"Through osmosis, I presume?"

"Something like that." Will sighed. "We can't let them go back there, you know."

"Back where?"

"Philadelphia. Prison." Will's face grew as dark as his surroundings—the clouds were starting to blot out the bright moon, and the cover of the trees only made the area more black and opaque.

"Will, we're not going to. Tomorrow Chase thinks she'll hear about those boxes, and then we'll start getting somewhere."

"I'm glad there's that. I don't know if I…" Will stopped short, as if he was listening for something.

"What?"

"Did you hear that?"

Oliver fell silent a few moments. "Hear what?"

"I thought I heard…"

The two men fell silent again. There was nothing but the sound of crickets.

"Maybe we'd better head back," Oliver suggested.

"Let's," Will agreed, holding Olivia closer. The two walked as quickly as they could while trying not to wake the sleeping infant, and the farther they progressed the darker their surroundings became. As they walked, Oliver could swear he could hear footsteps…

"Faster, LaMontaigne," he hissed, tossing a look over at his friend. "There's someone behind…"

Oliver's statement was cut short by a strike to his head. The younger man fell to the ground, unconscious.

"Oliver!" Will cried out, clutching his daughter now even more tightly. A moment later, two figures, dressed form head to toe in black, said something to him in that strange Chinese he didn't understand.

"What are…I don't…"

One of the figures pulled out a gun. Now that, Will understood—all too well. Again something was said, in that odd dialect.

"I don't understand…"

The figure with the gun pointed forward, the barrel kept trained on the Southerner at all times. The other figure picked up Oliver's limp frame and began dragging it somewhere—somewhere Will was supposed to follow.

"Please, what's going on?" he called out, trying to reason with these people as best he could. He was unarmed, and he had Olivia and Oliver to think about…

The cloaked figure said nothing, but pressed the man onward, finally throwing open a door on an old work truck. "In," the figure said, its accent thicker than Will's Cajun one.

_There's only two of them…I could run…_

_But then again, how good's their aim?_

_And I can't leave Oliver…not to die…_

"Please, don't hurt her," Will begged, still clutching the baby. He could see that the barrel of the pistol was dancing much too near his shoulder—and where his daughter slept—for his comfort.

"In!" the voice said again, more forceful this time. Oliver had already been thrown inside the van, his still-unconscious form now lying haphazardly on the floor.

Will bristled, and tried calling out for help. No one came. The guards were on patrol elsewhere, and the rest of the staff was inside the house—_guarding the others,_ Will thought.

The barrel danced closer. "In!"

Defeated, Will complied. The other figure bound his legs and trained the pistol on him as the first one drove the van away from the tree grove and into the unknown.


	27. Morning

**Thanks for the lovely reviews! Now if only my mail server would get its butt in gear...**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

"….someone there?! Hello?"

Oliver woke with a pounding headache and a bit of waking blindness; he blinked his eyes to focus them. He could remember trying to run from footsteps, then warning Will, and then…nothing. He heard the sound of something bristling underneath him, and something sharp and scratchy was poking at his face and limbs.

_It's straw,_ Oliver thought. _But where…_

"Hey! Is someone out there?! Hello? Anyone?!"

Just then a small voice began to wail. "Shhh, shhh, it's okay…" the voice near him said, starting to talk in that funny French that only Cajuns spoke. "It's all right, it's all right…"

"Will?" Oliver asked, his mind still fuzzy from the blackout. "Is that you?"

"Oliver, thank God," he said. "We're trapped…"

"Huh?" The younger man shook his head, trying to clear the fog that seemed to want to sit permanently behind his eyes. It didn't take long for him to stop that—the motion make his stomach roil and his headache worse.

"Those people, they shoved us down a hole in a barn or something," Will explained. "Just threw open a hatch and carried you in."

"Then how'd you…" Oliver asked, noticing that Will was still holding Olivia.

"Forced me down a ladder. They…they tried to take her, Oliver…"

"The baby?"

"One of 'em, said something in that Chinese, and looked like he wanted me to give him the baby."

"Obviously you didn't."

"No. The other one, his partner or whatever, made me climb down a long ladder to get down here."

"Ladder?" Oliver asked, his face brightening a little. "What goes down…"

"They took it. Pulled the thing up just after I hit the bottom. There's no other way out, except through that hatch." Will used a free hand to point at the small square opening through what looked like a wooden ceiling. The opening was a good fifteen feet from the ground—well out of reach for the five-ten Oliver and the five-eleven Will.

"Are you hurt? Or the baby?"

"No, just shook up is all. I have no idea where we are, other than in a barn somewhere. I tried counting out the trip, but there were enough turns in the road…"

The baby began to wail again. Will was doing his best to try and quiet her, but to no avail. After a few minutes, it was obvious what the matter was.

"I don't have anything to change her with…" the Cajun began, looking worried.

"Here," Oliver said, pulling off his shirt. "This is pretty old; I've only had it since college. It should work."

"Thanks," Will said, gently laying Olivia on some of the thin spread of hay that blanketed the concrete floor of the small space they were trapped in. He split Oliver's thin shirt into sections, and used a part of the sleeves to clean the tiny girl and a section of the front to wrap around her.

"Okay," Oliver said, trying to focus. "We're under a barn somewhere, could be miles from the estate, or it could be next door for all we know."

"I didn't get a chance to really search the place, though there's that little bit of light coming from the top…" Will added.

Taking slow, careful steps, Oliver managed to get a measure of the room. The space was about ten feet by fifteen feet, and had a clearing of at least another fifteen feet. In a corner of the room there was some sort of high-walled concrete box that spanned nearly six feet by four feet, and was about three or four feet deep. It was covered by a couple of pieces of what felt like plywood.

"I want to wait on that," Oliver said softly, trying not to wake the baby that had just fallen asleep. "Who knows what could be in there, that we can't see…"

"There's no light anywhere," Will lamented. "But there are cracks in the floorboards above us…"

"That'll help," Oliver said. "Ventilation plus a possible light source when the sun rises. Okay, so far, so good. We're dry, we're in one piece…"

"But we don't know where we are, nor what for," Will remarked.

"The 'what for' seems obvious…to 'entice' the others off the grounds and back into custody," Oliver countered.

"I don't know," Will replied. "That one man, he seemed pretty determined about getting his hands on Olivia…"

"Well, there's that possibility too, or perhaps it's both." Oliver sighed, frustrated and in pain. "I just can't get my head around it right now…"

"Well, we're going nowhere fast," said Will. "Why don't you try to get some sleep? It might help, and later you could let me take a spell…"

"All right," Oliver said, lying down on the stiff hay. "When I wake up I'll take Olivia, and maybe figure some things out."

Will settled himself into a corner of the space, and allowed Oliver to lie out and attempt to sleep. He sang a lullaby in that strange Cajun French he sometimes spoke, and the sound was cathartic to Oliver's ears.

* * *

The early morning proved to be colder than Oliver thought. He shivered as the cold from the concrete seeped into his bare skin, and the small bit of warmth the hay provided didn't nearly take enough of the chill off as he'd hoped.

"Here, Will, let me have her," Oliver said, looking over at the thin man who sat huddled in the corner, clutching his daughter as if someone would come in and snatch her from him. Will looked up at the friendly face that was speaking to him, but curled even tighter into his protective ball.

"Will, it's okay—I'm not going to hurt her…"

"I can't…"

"Look, you can't do anything for either of us if you're not rested," Oliver tried to reason. "It's okay…"

"They might come…"

"You know I won't let them take her. Not willingly." Oliver knelt down, trying to show solidarity with the man. "Please. Just for a little while…"

Will relaxed a little, but didn't hand over the tiny infant. Oliver had to physically reach into his arms to take hold of the baby, who slept on as if nothing was wrong in the slightest. The moment Oliver had her, Will nearly collapsed to the ground out of sheer exhaustion.

_Jesus,_ Oliver thought. _Any longer and he'd have gone batty…_

Just then little Olivia began to stir, wriggling her small hands as if trying to find that comfortable position again. She cried out, once—a thin cry, but settled herself again against Oliver's bare chest and fell back to sleep.

The rising sunlight began to float bright rays through the cracks in the floorboards, giving the dark space a pinpoint light effect. Oliver looked at the concrete trough that he'd considered exploring the previous night, and was able to get a better glimpse of it. The plywood still sat overtop of the trough's 'mouth,' untouched.

"Well, that means there's nothing in it," Oliver said softly, as if the baby were intently listening. "Nothing going to come out and get us, huh?"

Olivia slept on.

Shifting the infant's weight to one arm, Oliver struggled to pull one of the pieces of plywood off the top of the concrete container. The structure was full to the brim with water.

"Won't thirst to death, either," Oliver muttered. He tried to do some quick math in his head, and figured that they had about three weeks worth of water in that giant basin if they rationed it carefully—maybe longer if they were willing to stretch it as much as they could.

Suddenly Oliver's stomach began to growl. It had been ages since he'd eaten the dinner he'd made at the estate. He looked around, but found not a scrap of anything edible to be had.

"Okay, so food's gonna be a problem," he said again, now beginning to worry. "Why give us plenty of water, if they don't plan to feed us?"

A noise from above startled the young man, and he listened intently as footsteps drew closer to the open hatch. "Hello?" Oliver called out. "Can you hear me? Is someone up there? Please, say something!"

There was not a word spoken, but Oliver saw hands flitter over the top of the opening, as if arranging something. "What are you doing?" he called again. "Please, help us!"

The hands then sent down a short-walled tray that was suspended with rope. It drew towards the floor with careful measures, and then gently came to rest on the concrete floor. Just as quickly, the ropes were released from the tray and shot back up towards the surface.

"Wait! What is this? Please, talk to me!"

The sound of footsteps was the only thing that greeted his ears. They grew fainter as they walked away from the hatch opening.

Cautiously, Oliver looked at the tray. It was made of stainless steel, making it unbreakable but sturdy, and it had thick short 'walls' around the perimeter of it. Inside the 'walls' lay a small stainless steel bowl, four crusts of black bread, a thick plastic container full of milk, and two thin, clean dishcloths.

_So that's their plan,_ the young man thought. _They'll 'feed' us like this, until we've outlived our usefulness…_

_But then, what about the baby?_

Oliver looked at the items again. The tray could easily double as a small changing table, and the bowl could hold either water to wash the infant as well as some of the milk. But how were they going to feed her? She was only a week old—extremely too young to take large swallows of any kind of substance…

_It's like the dying man in the ocean, _Oliver thought. _Plenty of water, but can't drink it because of the salt._

The young man sat down gently arranging Olivia across his legs to give his arms a rest. _So they plan to keep us alive awhile, in any case._

_But for how long?_

* * *

Chase woke up with one of the worst migraines she'd had in a while. They came and went, and were a relic of her mother—she'd suffered from the horrible headaches too—and after an hour of rolling in bed she realized there was only one way to solve the problem. She made her way into the black-tile bathroom, sat over the toilet, and proceeded to wait until she threw up. Once dry heaves set in, she rinsed out her mouth, and went back to sleep for another three or four hours.

_Oliver's out there,_ Chase reasoned. _He can catch the phone should someone call…_

Not half an hour after she'd settled back into bed, there was a knock on her door. "Miss Charlotte?" a voice called out. "Miss Charlotte, are you awake?"

"What is it, Song Fei?" Chase's head was still pounding, but the drumbeats weren't as powerful.

"Miss Charlotte, please, you must come," the young woman replied. "There has been trouble…"

Immediately Chase was out of bed and out the door, not bothering to even get dressed. "What happened?" she demanded.

"Someone noticed there are three gardeners missing from the normal count," Song Fei said as the two hurried down the hall. "There is also other trouble…two of the Americans are nowhere to be found…"

Chase stopped dead on the staircase. "Who, Song Fei?"

"Mr. Oliver," the young woman replied. "He and the Frenchman, they did not come for breakfast, and when Uncle checked their rooms, they were left untouched from the previous night."

Chase held her hands out. "Okay, well, Will is known to take the baby for a walk on the grounds. Maybe they met up and spent the night out there…though I can't imagine why…"

Just then the head gardener, Wong Chinzu, was brought to the stairs by Han Wei and old Shan Tzu, the lead butler. **"Miss Charlotte…" **Han Wei began, using his native tongue.

"**What?" **Chase asked, now nearly frantic. **"What is it?"**

"**Miss, there has been an incident, near the tree grove…"**

"**Come, show me," **said Chase, now running as if her own life depended on it. To Shan Tzu she called out, **"Please wake the others, and bring them out—if it is anything, they must know…"**


	28. The First Phone Call

**Thanks for the lovely reviews! Please be sure to R&R Ch 27!**

**See disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

Hotch didn't think he'd run so fast in all his life, and he'd spent a lot of time chasing after a suspect or two in the past.

The second he'd returned to his room to change for the day, Han Wei called out to both he and Rossi, who had been in the bath at the time.

"Please, sirs, there is trouble—outside, near the tree grove…"

"What kind of trouble?" Hotch had asked.

Han Wei looked uncomfortable. "Please, come quickly…"

The look on the little man's face said that whatever it was, it wasn't good. He hurriedly threw on his clothes and shouted to Rossi in the bath. "Dave!"

"What?"

"Something's wrong…"

The sounds of splashing water assailed Hotch's ears. The next second the older man was standing in the china blue door frame. "What?"

"Something outside…that man, Han Wei, I didn't like the look on his face…"

"What kind of 'not like?'"

Both men stared at each other. Hotch's normally unreadable face cracked just a little, and the other man knew why.

"You don't think…"

Hotch threw on his shoes and raced for the door, leaving Rossi in his bathrobe, racing behind. They were met by Reid and Morgan, who both looked extremely concerned.

"What's going on? Hotch, Rossi?" Morgan asked.

"We're about to find out," Rossi said, not caring that the younger men were staring at his choice of dress.

About a quarter of a mile from the house lie the 'tree grove' that Han Wei spoke of—it was full of old willows and maples and the occasional birch tree. The normally silent paths were now abuzz with activity, with Han Wei conducting what looked like interviews in the house language and Chase Davis staring something on the ground next to a pair of old willows.

"What's going on?"

"There was a discrepancy in the count today," Chase said. Her face was cold and unreadable.

"The gardeners?" Morgan asked.

"Yes. The gate watches have taken to counting each gardener that comes and goes onto the grounds. Last night three gardeners stayed late, but didn't check in this morning."

"Maybe they stayed overnight?"

"You know of any late-night gardening professionals, Reid?" the investigator asked sharply. It was obvious there was something else she wasn't sharing.

"Chase, you wouldn't be out here if it was just that," Rossi reasoned. "You're staring at that piece of ground as if a man took his last step on it. You're short with us, you're formal…something's not right here."

"See this?" she said, pointing at what looked to the agents like a long drag mark. "What do you think that is?"

"Looks to me like something got dragged," Morgan said, now slipping into his usual routine of 'role playing' a scene. "Okay, so something got moved, and in a hurry—those marks are pretty wide, and deep, like someone was trying to move something heavy."

"Okay. Now look over here," Chase said. A few feet away from the drag mark was a set of tire prints.

"Three-inch radials," Reid said without thinking. "There's not a lot of companies that make that particular pattern…"

Chase called out to one of the servants, who was acting as a photographer. She said something in the house language, and the man began snapping no less than a dozen shots of the tire tracks in at least eight different angles. The young woman then went into the tree grove, beckoning the men to follow her.

"Stay off the path," she instructed, pointing out several footprints in the chipped cedar that groomed the walking paths in this small area. "We need a look at those prints, especially the smaller ones."

Morgan looked at the larger ones, especially one that had a deep ball impression. "This one was carrying something," he said.

"Very good."

"The question is, what?" Hotch said. "And where were they going?"

"My guess?" Chase said. "They were running up to the house."

"And these other ones that were following…they must have been keeping a decent pace." Rossi mused. "Almost as if…"

"Someone were _chasing_ them?" Morgan asked incredulously. "Wait a minute…that drag mark—that could have been a person…"

"Keep going…"

"There's three missing gardeners, right?" Reid asked. "Has anyone looked in on them? Perhaps someone tried to use them to get on the grounds?"

"That's one theory," Chase admitted.

"What's the other?" Hotch asked.

Chase kept silent. Her face angled towards the ground and she began trying to visualize what had taken place.

"Drag marks, footprints, missing people…" Hotch said, trying to connect the dots. "Someone got chased out here, then put in something, likely a large truck or a van by the size of the tire tracks."

"Not just some_one_," Morgan said. _"Two_ someones. There's two sets of prints here…"

"But there's three missing gardeners," Reid pointed out. "What happened to the other one?"

Chase's face was still slack, looking as professional as the group had ever seen her.

"There's something else," Morgan sussed out. "What aren't you telling us?"

Chase heaved a huge sigh. "Oliver and Will didn't make it back to bed last night. When Han Wei tried to call them for breakfast, the beds were untouched and the bathroom was clean and dry."

"They never went to bed," Rossi said.

"Exactly."

"Means they were somewhere else."

"Mmm-hmm." Chase's face was still a mask.

Just then Emily raced out, breathless. "JJ can't find the baby," she panted. "We've searched the entire house, top to bottom, and she's just _nowhere_ to be found…"

"What?" Now Hotch was _really _concerned.

"Maybe Will has her," reasoned Reid, ever the logician.

"But we can't find _him_ either," countered Morgan. Then the agent looked at the scene again. Then he looked at Chase. Then he looked at the marks in the dirt…

"Oh, shit," Morgan swore. The short phrase made everyone take notice.

Just then Chase's phone went off. "Chase Davis," she said, ever the professional.

"My, my," a voice said. It was not one Chase had heard before. She quickly put the device on speaker and motioned everyone to fall silent.

"Do I know you?" the investigator asked.

"Not yet, but you will," said the voice. "We have some business to discuss."

"I'm not taking work right now," Chase said. "I can refer you out…"

"Oh, but you see, I've already retained you," the voice corrected. "Our business is much older than that."

"Okay, here's how it works—_I_ tell _you_ whether I'm available, and _you_ decide to either come back or take the referral. Those are your options."

"Very well. Let me pose this question to you, then, Miss Davis—how long do you think the average person can survive in isolation, subsisting on the mercy of others?"

"Quite well, if done right," the investigator said, her boldness cranking into full gear.

"Yes, you certainly have. However, Messrs. Lawrence and LaMontaigne now have slightly less, ah, 'desirable' accommodations than those you've managed to provide. And unless you and yours reach a decision, they will continue to get worse."

"Where are they?" Chase said, her tone of voice calm and terrifyingly even. The tone even scared Hotch, and he didn't scare all that easily.

"Alive, and fairly comfortable—for now. How long that lasts, well…"

"The decision," Chase snapped.

"Temper, temper," the voice replied. "Take a couple of days, calm down, look at things more rationally. We'll speak again. But do try to hurry—that little one, I'm not sure how they'll manage with her…"

The line fell dead after that.

Six faces fell completely slack. The first to show emotion was Morgan, and his recourse was to pound his fist into the side of a tree. "Son of a _bitch!_" he cried, realizing what had just happened.

"There's no way to trace the call," Chase said angrily. "We've got ours on scramblers—a way to prevent the likes of Adlington from following the people working on the outside…" She too let out a stream of curses, and her hands flew faster than they'd ever seen her sign.

"That's why they called your phone, and not the house," Rossi said. He was now reaching that point where he flew off the handle sometimes, and was seriously trying to keep his temper in check.

"It's not only that," Reid realized. "He said that he and Chase had 'business'…what if we're looking at this the wrong way? All of it?"

"What?"

"We need to look through your old cases, Chase. _All_ of them. That's where our missing link is—it's through you…"

"Or someone _thinks_ it is," Chase said shortly. "Fucking hell!" she shouted. "And all we can do is wait!"


	29. Realization

**Thanks for the lovely reviews!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

By the time Will woke up he could hear tiny wails floating from the other end of the small space he was imprisoned in. Oliver was pacing, trying to quiet the little girl, but to no avail.

"She's been like this for a while," the younger man said, handing her off. "I've checked her diaper, I've tried wrapping her in something to keep her warm—though there's not much for that, I'll grant…"

The tiny wails grew louder.

"She's probably hungry," said Will, realizing it had been a long time since any of them had eaten. "And we've got nothing…"

"We do," said Oliver, showing him the tray that had been lowered. "But I'm still trying to figure out how to get the milk _into_ her at this point."

Will looked at the contents of the tray, which Oliver had left largely untouched. He spied the thin dishcloth and bent down to pick it up. Looking over the cloth carefully, he then tipped his head towards the container of milk. "Open that," he said, sitting back down onto the hard concrete and settling Olivia into a semi-upright position.

"Will, I'm not seeing it…how are…?"

"Watch," the Cajun said, picking up the cloth and dipping a corner of it into the milk. Once it was saturated, Will then carefully placed a tiny portion of the sodden cloth into Olivia's mouth, which she began to nurse from. As soon as the milk was sucked out of the cloth, Will repeated the process.

"I'll be damned," Oliver said, watching as the baby was fed. "I have to say, I never thought of that."

"Had relatives that raised goats, towards the bayous," Will explained. "Once in a while there'd be a little one who'd lost its mother, and this was how they fed them. I figured it had to be what these people here were thinking."

"To be honest, that's what puzzles me," Oliver said. He settled down nearby on the concrete, watching as Olivia ate. "Seeing as there's obviously someone who's all too eager to take her away from you, why would they put her down here in the first place? I mean, they could have easily just snatched her away…"

"Not the way I had her. You'd have had to kill me first, and I'm more than willing to go that route."

"Then that's not the answer," Oliver reasoned. "They want us both alive, for something…"

"Like you said, leverage. What better way to make JJ and the others leave the estate than by using us?"

"I dunno," Oliver replied.

"How so? It's the only thing right now that makes sense…"

"If it were just about getting the team off the estate, they wouldn't have needed me," the younger man said. "In fact, they could have just finished me right there on the grounds."

"But they didn't."

"Yeah. Which tells me that whatever this is, it's not just about _them._ It's about _all_ of us…"

Oliver rose again, his headache having subsided but his stomach still growling. He wrapped his arms around his bare frame, shivering slightly from the cold.

"You're freezing," Will said, noticing the slight chatter in his friend's teeth.

"I'll live."

"You'll catch cold."

"Hasn't killed me yet."

"It might."

Oliver looked around. There was nothing to wrap himself in—at least, nothing of any usable size. "Well, I'll have to live," he said finally. "I'm just not seeing anything I can use, and you're nowhere near my size, even as thin as I am…"

Will had to admit that. Though neither he nor Oliver were terribly overweight, Oliver was built a lot more solidly than the Cajun was. He had thought of giving Oliver his thin overshirt, but soon realized that the younger man could barely fit his forearm through one of the sleeves.

"God, I could use some water," Will said, heaving a small sigh.

"Now there, you're in luck," said Oliver. He walked over to the large concrete trough and dipped his hand in. "It's full to the brim."

"But there's nothing to put it in…"

Oliver cupped his hands and took a drink. He then picked up the small steel bowl and filled it, bringing it over to where Will sat with Olivia.

"Thanks," the older man said, draining the bowl. On his lap, the baby began to cough a little. Will picked her up and began to pat her back.

"So, they've given us water, just enough food to keep us from falling over, and milk and cloths for the baby," Will mused. "Sounds to me like these people plan to keep us awhile…"

Oliver nodded, his mind elsewhere.

"What is it?"

"That thing I keep missing," the younger man admitted.

"What thing?"

"About a month ago, before we got to the estate, Kyle was looking into some odd calls. He said they all traced back to someplace in Maryland, Lincoln…something. I've been racking my brain for a month now, trying to figure out what that is, because I could _swear_ I've heard of a place like that before…"

"You think it's important?"

"Considering what I know now, it has to be."

Will looked puzzled. "What _do_ we know now?"

"Like I said, this bit here isn't about just getting the team off the estate grounds. I'm willing to bet it's a big part of it, but it's not the end-all."

"End-all?"

"Something my dad used to say. Means it's not the _whole_ reason we're here…"

"Mmm."

Oliver began to pace, his mind now cluttered with thoughts on what the whole thing—the false accusations, the charges, Adlington, _everything_—was all about. His mind kept coming back to one thing…

"Silver Spring," he said finally, after several minutes. The comment was so random that Will took notice.

"What about it?"

"That place…I'd remember it forever," Oliver said. "It was a huge place, in Silver Spring…"

"What 'place'?" asked Will, now thoroughly confused.

"There was this place, just outside Silver Spring, an old government think tank of military installation that went under. These people, they used it as their base of operations…"

"People? Oliver, I'm not following…"

"The diplomats. It's about the diplomats…no. Not entirely." Oliver could see the image, as if it were yesterday—the sight of the aircraft, being surrounded by agents; Sarah's hand pressing against the small window; the sight of her on that gurney, encased in black…

And then the sight of the other bed—the one carrying out that man…

"Damn it!" Oliver shouted. "That's _it_—it has to be, there's no other way it works…"

"What?"

Oliver looked at Will, determination firing through his eyes. "Retribution. Against all of us. This isn't about ambition or justice or even the truth. It's about retribution…"


	30. Yang Chen

**Thanks for the lovely reviews! Please be sure to read Ch. 29!**

**See disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

The Americans were talking. He could hear the voices floating from underneath the floorboards, from that dark hole.

It had been the perfect place to put them. The _where_ hadn't been important to the foreign man—only that they were 'unharmed.'

Yang Chen stood guard, waiting for his compatriots to return. He did not make much noise as he walked over the boards near the barn door, pacing. He was restless. His wife would miss him soon.

The man thought about his wife, and about the deal he'd made. His compatriots had been promised vast sums for their 'assistance,' but the money meant little to him, personally. There was something else he wanted…

"**They cannot keep a baby," **the gardener had said as he waked down the servants' entranceway towards the grounds one night. **"Where is it fair? My poor wife, she is a good woman, and a good worker, and she is denied this. But these people…**_**aiya…"**_

"**This is not for us to say," **replied his friend, who knew of Yang Chen's troubles. **"We do not know everything about these people. Perhaps they are still…"**

"**For how long?" **Yang Chen retorted. **"Why must the world turn its back good people, yet protect those that are not?"**

Two nights later the foreign man appeared, speaking in Mandarin. His request was simple—help remove one or two of the Americans from the Master's premises, and he could help them. Yang Chen was unconvinced. **"You cannot give us what we would want," ** he told the man.

"**There is a child among them, quite new, from what I understand."**

"**Yes, a little girl. She is lovely; a lark, they call her…"**

"**If you help me, she can be yours. Your wife would have a child of her own to raise, and you may claim her."**

The thought boggled Yang Chen's mind. _Take_ the _Americans'_ baby?

"**This cannot be done," **the gardener replied.

"**It can. I believe the Americans could be 'convinced' to see things clearly, Master Yang. They could be brought to reason—that you and your wife would be better suited to raise the child than they would."**

"**But how…?"**

"**Leave that to me. Will you help?"**

Yang Chen had asked the foreign man for some time. A day later, the man returned to the little cottage in the nearby village, ready with an answer.

"**I will do this, for the baby. My wife and I can provide for her."**

"**Very good," **the foreign man had said. A couple of days later, the plans had been arranged.

The night the gardener had come with the others to collect the Americans had been unnaturally dark. Yang Chen was a superstitious man, and believed that the heavens were helping to bring the child to him and Yang Linshou, who had been in a persistent state of melancholy since the loss of their last child. He thought only of the smile that would grace his bride's face when he brought home the little 'lark' for her.

It was supposed to have been simple—the Frenchman was known to take the 'lark' for walks during the night, and on that particular night it had been no different. The tree grove that stood on the edge of the grounds was one Yang Chen knew well—he often tended the paths there, and kept the wild brush from growing too thick and bothersome. It was the one part of the Master's estate that he preferred working in, as he could let his mind wander back to the stories of old, with dark forests and magical dragons in them.

As luck would have it, that tree grove was where the Frenchman had gone for his walk that night. Yang Chen saw him cradling the baby, talking to her in both English and a funny sort of language he'd never heard before, though it sounded like perhaps the French the man was supposed to speak or maybe another European language to his untrained ears.

_Simple,_ he'd thought, keeping a close eye on the tiny girl. The other two, they were more concerned about getting the Frenchman away; Yang Chen was concerned about the baby.

Then that other man arrived—the house folks called him Mr. Oliver. Yang Chen was concerned—Mr. Oliver, it was said, was a good man, and a close friend of Miss Charlotte. The thought of raising Miss Charlotte's ire scared him. She was a good woman, and was very good at what she did.

"**We cannot do this,"** the gardener had said, his voice full of fear. **"If Miss Charlotte finds out…"**

"**Then she will not find out," **the leader of the party said. **"We'll take them both. The foreign man will be pleased, I think."**

Though Yang Chen had tried to protest, eventually he went along with the idea. After all, if Miss Charlotte knew, he would not get to keep the baby—and _that_ was his only priority at the moment.

The three gardeners had crept into the grove, stalking their quarry quietly. They listened to the men talk about the goings-on at the house, and were content to continue until the youngest of the three gardeners, Han Lin, stepped on a dry branch. Mr. Oliver stopped, then said something to the Frenchman, then both turned on their heels and began to hurry back. Yang Chen followed, paying close attention to the baby.

Finally the leader stepped out from behind a large willow, cracking Mr. Oliver on the head. The young man fell to the ground, and Yang Chen feared that the man had killed him. When he bent quickly to check, he could feel short breaths coming out of Mr. Oliver's nose. Heaving a sigh of relief, he then saw the leader pointing a gun at the Frenchman—and more importantly, towards the baby.

Han Lin pulled the old gardening van back to where the Frenchman stood, while the leader tried to force the man into it. The Frenchman stood there, confused and afraid, clutching the tiny girl in his arms.

"In," the leader said, waving his pistol at the man. Han Lin waited patiently, killing the engine. Yang Chen lifted the unconscious man from the ground and, with some difficulty, pulled him over towards the van and tossed him inside. Mr. Oliver never stirred.

The leader was growing impatient. "In!" he demanded, again waving the pistol in his hands at the Frenchman and his daughter.

The Frenchman said something in English—something Yang Chen didn't quite understand. However, the man's movements told him plenty. He was afraid of the leader's gun, and was trying to shield the baby from being hurt.

The leader demanded the Frenchman get in the van once more, and this time, though he was obviously unwilling, the Frenchman complied.

"**Get in and drive!"** the leader snapped, slamming the door behind him. Yang Chen climbed into the passenger's seat of the old van, and allowed Han Lin—the only one of the three who could actually drive—to take the vehicle out through a rarely-used service entrance in the gate. It was a rusted old steel gate, several inches thick and well-hidden by years of overgrowth from the willow trees. Yang Chen knew that the alarms would not sound here, as the old entrance was still technically an _entrance_, though not used much. The last time it had been used was several years earlier, when the tree grove was being initially groomed.

Once off the premises, Han Lin had driven carefully past the winding trees and thick cloak of hanging brush that persisted until the vehicle reached the highway. From there, the directions the foreign man gave were followed until they were dizzy from the turns and finally stumbled onto the barn itself.

As soon as the van stopped, the leader burst through the door, seizing a knife to cut the ropes that bound the Frenchman's legs. "Out!" he shouted, again waving the gun at the frightened man.

The Frenchman carefully tried to do as he was told, but he stopped short once he realized he would have to crawl over his friend. He said something, but again, it was in English. His eyes kept looking between his friend lying motionless in front of him and the little girl still asleep on his shoulder.

"**Move that one out of there!" **the leader barked, and Han Lin and yang Chen pulled Mr. Oliver from the van, still unconscious. Together the two managed to carry him down the long ladder and lay him on top of the hay that covered the concrete floor below.

"Go," the leader said, motioning the Frenchman towards the hatch opening. Again, the Frenchman froze, realizing that whatever was going to happen was not good. He spoke again in English, but none of the gardeners could understand him.

Yang Chen worried that the baby would go down there as well, and that was not in his plans. He walked over to the Frenchman and held his hands out, looking expectantly at the tiny infant. "Give," he said, one of only a handful of English words he knew.

The Frenchman clutched the baby closer to him, and looked determined. Yang Chen knew that he was still in denial, and that the foreign man would straighten things out. Still, the hole in the floorboards was no place for a baby—especially one so small…

"**In time, Yang Chen,"** the leader said. **"The foreign man wants them to obey and behave now."**

"**Surely they can't…"**

"**It is the only way. The Americans must behave, and keeping her, for now, is the only way they will do this."**

"**But surely…"**

"**In time, Yang Chen. All in time. The foreign man will talk to them, you will see, and in a few days you may take her home."**

The Frenchman stood nervously, watching the leader's gun with great interest. The leader motioned again. "Go. Down."

The man refused to move. The leader began to shove him towards the opening, and pulled back the firing mechanism on the pistol. "Down!" he shouted, screaming at the Frenchman.

Reluctantly, the Frenchman stepped onto the first rung, trying to hold himself on the ladder and keep hold of the baby. He said something again in English, but the words went unheeded. Once the man reached the concrete floor, the leader and Han Lin hastily pulled the long ladder from the hole and laid it next to the barn wall, far from the opening.

Yang Chen had been the one to close the hatch opening, muffling the Frenchman's cries from below him. After a couple of steps, he could hear a more painful sound—that of the little 'lark' crying. He could hear the Frenchman try to calm the child, calling out for help of some kind while saying soft things to soothe the little one's ears.

After that Yang Chen had moved into the small house near the barn, where he and his compatriots would spend the next few nights.

Now it was mid-morning, and he was waiting impatiently. Han Lin had taken the leader to go and get more supplies, especially for the baby—they had not originally thought she would come on this trip, and that had proven to be some of the problem the previous night. As for the Americans themselves, Yang Chen felt a little sorry for them, but not too much—after all, they were the reason the Master's house had become an armed fortress, and he would be glad to be rid of them.

Finally the sight of the old van cheered him a little. **"Where have you been?" ** he demanded. **"They're awake now, and the little one…"**

The leader listened intently. There were no cries of any kind. **"There is nothing, Yang Chen," **he said. **"Perhaps they are getting used to their surroundings…"**

"**Perhaps," **the gardener agreed.

"**Come, we must check on them," **said Han Lin. **"The foreign man, he say they must be alive and not badly hurt to be of use to him."**

Together, the three gardeners opened the hatch and peered inside. They heard shuffling of feet against concrete and straw, and the soft coos of the little girl inside.

One of the voices called out—this was a younger voice, and Yang Chen remembered it as Mr. Oliver's. He was calling out something to them, but with the three's extremely limited English none of them could make out what he was saying.

Yang Chen turned to the leader. **"Were you able to get them?" **he asked.

"**Yes." **Walking over to the van, the leader pulled out several large bags. In one was several yards of thin fabric, cut into two pieces; in others there was enough food for them to eat well for the next four or five days. The leader walked over to the hatch opening and dropped the fabric in, letting it float to the ground. Mr. Oliver called out again, his voice more desperate, but since no one could understand him, his cries went unheeded.

"**Come,"** said the leader. **"It's time we had our breakfast."**


	31. The Search Begins

**Thanks for the lovely reviews! Please be sure to read Ch. 30!**

**See disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

Oliver called out until his throat was hoarse.

"It's no use, Oliver," Will said. "They're not coming back. I don't think there's anyone up there."

"This is impossible!" Oliver fumed. "Of all the times that I finally _get_ it, and there's nothing I can _do_ about it!" He stalked over to a corner of the small space and sat, not wanting to see anything for a little while.

"Get what?" Will asked. "I mean, I guess I'm not getting it…"

"You weren't here then," the younger man replied. "This was about a year ago, before things…"

"Ah ha," Will said slowly. He carefully sat down on the concrete, keeping a firm hold on his now happily wriggling daughter. "And it has to do with this place in Silver Spring?"

"I'm telling you, there's something behind it. Though I can't see how, anymore—the guys using the place nearly _leveled_ it with everyone inside. Actually set off charges and explosives in key places to maximize the damage."

"They were trying to kill someone?"

"A _lot_ of someones," Oliver emphasized. "It was probably the most complicated setup I'd seen…well, until this, I guess." He flopped a free hand in the air as if it were swatting a fly. "These people, Callahan and something-with-a 'C'—Chase knows that one's name, but I don't offhand—they wanted to use homemade chemical weapons to take out a diplomatic summit focusing on that very thing. These people spared no expense and really did their homework, deciding who to target and who to 'use' for their own ends."

"Homework how?"

"They knew which people they needed for certain things, like creating the chemical compound they used or the containers they put the compound in, plus they knew who to target to keep counterterrorism and some of the other divisions off their backs. Hell, they even leveraged an aircraft mechanic and pilot to build the thing and get it flown—all without them being near it!"

Will fell silent, laying Olivia onto a small mound of hay he'd scraped together so that she could lie flat and have her head protected. "Sounds to me like this was personal."

"I kinda think that's the point, Will. All _this_—it is personal. We're the ones who stopped them from reaching their goal."

"How so?"

"Chase put a bullet in the other guy," he said. "She had to take shots at Mo and the Ambassador before that, and was lucky she could get the shot off."

"Jesus," Will exclaimed.

"Oh, there's more. These guys? Kidnapped Kyle and Garcia on the same night, so they had access to both Chase's files and the BAU's as well. Both of them are considered top-notch technical experts, so…"

"They needed a fall guy," Will reasoned. "And they were going to pin it on Chase?"

"On Chase, on Kyle and Garcia, on Agent Hotchner, and on me." Oliver stewed a bit, seething that he was just _now_ putting it together. "Son of a _bitch,_ why didn't I see this coming? Why didn't _any_ of us see it coming?!"

Will thought a moment. "How'd this thing end? For them, I mean?"

"The other guy's dead. Callahan was shot in the spine and the right shoulder—he's permanently crippled, and now residing in a state facility with bars and locks on the doors. Bastard deserves worse."

"That's not worse?"

You don't understand, Will." Oliver was glad he was in the dark corner. He didn't want his friend seeing him like this. "They used my little sister against me. Kidnapped her, same as they did the rest, and used her to gain leverage over me. _God,_ I am an _idiot!_"

"You've had other things on your mind, Oliver," Will reasoned. "Looking after Garcia, escaping from vindictive agents, trying to sort through the information coming in, making sure Chase Davis isn't losing her mind with all the added stress and worry from looking after everyone else…I'd say you had your hands pretty full, myself."

Oliver heaved a great sigh. His stomach growled, but he'd already eaten the two crusts that were his. He would not dream of asking Will for a portion of the rest—the Cajun needed to eat too, if he was going to get through this. He picked up one of the long lengths of fabric, using it to wrap himself up in it. It just barely circled around his chest and arms.

"What happened?" Will asked, breaking the long silence.

"Huh?"

"Your sister," the Cajun said. "What happened to her?"

Oliver sat quiet a moment. It still hurt to talk about it. Somehow, he didn't think he'd ever feel comfortable talking about those images he still saw some nights, when he was having a nightmare.

"Oliver?"

"He shot her. Bastard shot her, point blank. Sarah didn't…she didn't have…"

"I'm sorry."

Oliver swallowed the lump in his throat. "It's not your fault. He was going to shoot Garcia too, until the damn pilot in the airplane grew a backbone. The worst part of it was, I left the hangar. I left to go save Kyle and the mechanic, who'd been trapped in a hole even smaller than this one. I saved them. But I couldn't save Sarah…"

Will said nothing. He held on to his daughter even closer, and it took a minute for him to realize she was crying.

"Hey, what's the matter?" the Cajun said, trying to suss out what was wrong. "Are you…oh," he said, holding his nose at an odd angle. "Time for a change," he replied, answering his own question.

Oliver held out the thin fabric he had wrapped around himself. "Need this?" he asked.

"What I need is some decent pins, or decent diapers for that matter," the older man said. "It's a wonder she doesn't fall out of the ones we're making…"

"Still, we're running out of cloth," Oliver pointed out.

Will quickly pulled off his overshirt, tearing it as he had Oliver's old shirt the night before. He sectioned it again, placing the remaining fabric from the clothes into a pile. "We're gonna have to wash those out," the man said solemnly. "We can't keep going through our clothes, not like this…"

"Yeah, because it's not gonna be much good if we keep her healthy but die of exposure ourselves," Oliver seconded. He looked at the articles they had available and, picking up the walled tray, carefully dipped it into the water. He filled the sides as much as he dared, then carefully placed the water-filled tray on the concrete. He picked up he soiled cloths, and, gritting his teeth, began to rinse them out. There was no soap, but the 'mess' did come out of them fairly easily.

"You're a better man than I am, Oliver," Will said, having finished cleaning Olivia and was now attempting to feed her again. "I don't know if I could do that."

"I had a baby sister at nine. I got 'recruited' a lot in the clean-up."

"Me, I was an only child. I want Olivia to have at least a little brother or sister."

"Does her mother know that?" The impish smile on Oliver's face as enough to break the black tension that loomed like a thick cloak over the men.

"She will. Give it time."

"Always the way with you Southerners. Us Michiganders tend to see it differently, I guess."

"How so?"

"We want enough kids to shovel the sidewalks and scrape the car windows…or, that could have just been my parents…"

Once the linens were clean, the next problem became that there was no place to toss the soiled water. In the end, both Will and Oliver designated one corner for just that purpose and remained consistent.

"You know eventually the smell will kill us," Oliver said, only half joking.

"That's not what I'm worried about," Will said.

"What's that?"

"We could get hurt. We could get sick. Or Olivia could, which is worse—no immune system…"

"Better hope those guys figure it out in time, then," Oliver said. "'Cause I can't scream any more, and I figure we'll have to do that just as the very last resort."

"I hope it doesn't come to that."

"Me neither."

* * *

The second Reid reached the drawing room, he pounced on Garcia, who had been trying to console a frantic JJ. "I need you to pull up everything we have on that case from last year," he said, his words coming faster than normal.

"Uh, _which_ case…?"

"Silver Spring, Maryland, about a year ago. It's the only one we didn't check!"

"Probably because all the major players are either dead or in prison," Garcia said bitterly. Just the mention of that affair brought back the sight of a girl slightly younger than Reid, gasping for air through bloodied teeth…

"That's just it. The planning, the use of leverage and psychological attacks…it all fits!"

"Then why didn't we see it?" Garcia retorted. Chase and Emily were in the other room, trying to console JJ. The two agents could hear the younger woman telling her that everyone on the grounds, as well as everyone she knew that was free, was now looking for the missing men and the baby.

"Will's got her, JJ," Emily tried to tell her. "He won't let anything happen to her..."

"But he might not have a _choice!_" the small blonde cried, her emotions now completely a wreck. "They could shoot him, or force him to give her up, or just kill them both…"

"If I know Oliver, he's probably with them, JJ," Chase tried to reason. "He's not going to let that happen, not without a fight…you know that."

JJ tried to see her friends's points, but still…"

"She's so little…"

"I know."

"_Do_ you?"

Chase was taken aback, but understood where it was coming from. "You're right. I _don't_ know about having a child taken away. But I _do_ know about having _everyone else_ taken away, until the only one left is yourself. If this is anything like that, then I know it more than well."

In the next room, the rest of the men finally caught up with Reid, who was now busy staring at the information on the Sliver Spring case. "I can't believe we missed this…"

"Missed what?"

"It's the Silver Spring case. Whoever's doing this—_all_ of this—they're connected somehow. It's the only case we've all worked on, and that, as far as we know, Chase and Oliver have been able to really piss someone off…"

"Not to mention us," said Morgan, who was still all for leaving the grounds to go find their missing friends and the baby. Mo Li had worked hard to talk him out of the idea, but he wasn't entirely convinced it was the right decision.

"Morgan, these people, that's exactly what they want," the lawyer had reasoned. "And once you give in to their demands, there's no guarantee that they'll let the others free. You know this."

"Yeah, but where I come from they teach us to be a little more optimistic!"

"Optimism isn't our problem," Mo replied. "I for one believe that Oliver is alive, as is Det. LaMontaigne and the baby—especially the baby."

"Why the baby especially?" Rossi asked.

"Because in this country, a baby is often hard to come by…especially if you're desperate…"

"You think someone _bought_ her?" Morgan asked, incredulous.

"I think someone probably took her, and seeing as she's little, simply could have decided to raise her themselves. Or, more likely, she was given away to someone who desperately wants a child."

"That could be anyone," Hotch said, his face growing more stone-like than ever. "We don't even have a place to start…"

"We might," said Garcia. "People that desperate usually have had a lot of trouble conceiving, or carrying to term…hang on…" Her fingers flew over the laptop that was perched on the drawing room desk. "I'm going to run records from hospitals, clinics you name it, see if anyone lost children in the last eighteen months. Cross reference that with attempts to adopt…"

"And you might have something," said Hotch. "Let us know."

"Got it. Oh, and I sent Kyle Parker copies of that file, along with your theory," the tech said, pointing at Reid. "He'll have different ones than we've got, and together we might be able to solve that angle too."

"How long?"

"Best estimate, considering I'm doing all this under the radar? Three or four days, give or take."

"Three or four _days_?!" Morgan cried.

"Hey, not using the FBI supercomputers here," Garcia said. "But I'm doing the best I can…"

"Keep at it, Garcia. We'll look at this another way," Rossi said simply. He picked up the file and started in the direction of the kitchen.

"Hey, where're you going?" the others called out.

"Getting coffee," he said. "This is gonna take a while…"


	32. All for the Best

**Thanks for the lovely reviews! Be sure to R&R Ch. 31!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

_Kyle:_

_Silver Spring. Look into that, tell me what we're missing. _

_Garcia_

Kyle stared at the short email. He'd been staying with Josh Hollenbeck the last few weeks, and though he liked and respected the man greatly, he was beginning to get on his nerves. For one, the man's house was neater than a museum exhibit. For another, communication sometimes became a problem. It wasn't that Josh wasn't willing to pick up some sign, because the man had now invested in three sign language dictionaries, but because between his bushy mustache and his odd way of speaking, Kyle could sometimes barely make out what the agent was trying to say.

_Does everyone have problems understanding you?_ he wrote one night on the ever-present tablet of paper that served as their primary form of speech. _Cause I swear, I can't make heads or tails of what's coming out of your mouth half the time…_

_--It is not my fault no one speaks my language._

_Which is?_

_--Too many to count._

Kyle chuckled. Then the computer had gone off, and now he was staring at Garcia's note.

_Silver Spring…Silver Spring…_

Kyle's thoughts were now beginning to jumble. He knew the name sounded familiar…but why?

Behind him, Josh looked at the note as well. He picked up the pen and wrote:

_--Lincoln Systems. Silver Spring, Maryland. The Hanover affair._

Now Kyle looked at Josh as though he were mad.

_Hanover? Who the hell is that?!_

_--One of my former agents. He was a traitor, tried to set up Oliver as well as some of those people on ten. Chemical weapons and blowing up diplomats…my God…_

Suddenly Kyle remembered. The long hallways. The feeling of helplessness as that vile black cloth was wound around his eyes…

The younger man began by disconnecting from the internet and then setting up a series of external hard drives—ones he'd had to slip into his hometown to retrieve since the takeover of the Trio offices. It was lucky that Kyle kept the backups in a lockbox on the grounds of the Institute campus, where the old bank concourse had been before they built a separate building for it next to Mallard Hall.

Kyle then picked through every file that he, Chase and Oliver had on the 'affair,' as Josh had called it. There was a lot of information that the trio had pulled in its aftermath…

_Wow,_ they young tech thought. _All those cases, and I couldn't come up with it…_

Poring over a few of the files, he managed to pull up the dossiers the three had compiled on the operation's main proponents—one Arthur Cordova and one Patrick Callahan. The listings were long and extensive, and their known whereabouts were listed as well.

_Cordova's dead—he's the one Chase shot at the U.S. Embassy, _Kyle wrote. _There's a listing of where he's buried, but not much else. Callahan is over in Atlanta, sitting on a medical block for the rest of his days in maximum security. He's not getting out, ever—Oliver and Chase made sure of that._

_--Then how is this the connection?_ Josh wondered. _Everyone's dead or incapaci…wait. Who claimed Cordova's body?_

Kyle looked through the file. _Says here it was a man named Volkner, claimed to be a friend of Cordova's. One will get you twenty he was working on someone's behalf…_

Kyle wanted very much to begin scouring the net for anything on this Volkner character, but knew damn well that all forms of information had been either bugged or tapped since Adlington had been on the loose. The little bit of protection he'd been able to cobble together using his backups was enough to send short messages to and from Garcia's system, but was simply not enough to overpower the technical think tank over at Quantico that Adlington had at his disposal.

He fired up his mail server, using the most encrypted one he had, and added in a few extra ones just to make sure.

_Garcia—_

_Look up a man called Arlen Volkner—he claimed Arthur Cordova's body last year, and is probably working for someone behind the scenes. I can't do it myself, or I would._

_Kyle_

Josh watched as the note was sent off. He then picked up the pen again.

­_--Any luck finding things on Adlington?_

_They'll tell me, I'm sure. Right now I'm working with Petr and Anya—operatives Chase uses sometimes—and they've said that there something I want to see before they send it to the others._

_--Like what?_

_Not sure yet. I'm supposed to meet them later today…_

_--Be careful._

Kyle nodded. He understood.

* * *

A light rain began to fall, and a persistent chill lingered over the dark hole where Oliver and Will were being kept. The two men had taken turns keeping the baby close, trying to keep her warm through the thin shards of fabric as well as their own heat coming off of themselves.

Oliver's teeth chattered, and he couldn't make them stop.

"It's August," he said through clacking teeth. "Why is it so damn cold?"

"Because it's raining, and there's no heat in here," his friend replied.

"Thanks. My day's gotten a whole lot better."

Olivia began to fuss a little, and Oliver handed her over. "Here," he said. "You've at least got more clothes to wrap her in…I'm all out."

Will looked up at the wooden ceiling, far out from their reach. Someone had replaced the hatch opening, and now the only light that shone in was from the stray cracks in the worn boards above them.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why what?"

"Forget all about 'enticement' and whatnot for a second. I just want to know why someone would go to all this trouble to do such a thing…"

Oliver settled on the concrete. He'd have given a lot just to sit in a chair, and put a shirt on—or even just a blanket with a hole in it for his head. He looked at the thin scrap that had been tossed to him hours earlier, and was seriously contemplating how to rip a hole in it.

"I told you, retribution. Someone wants us paying for what happened in Silver Spring…"

Will fell silent. He just couldn't understand these people. First the woman in the Quarter, killing people to prove herself, and now this…

"People amaze me, you know," the Cajun said.

"How so?"

"Well, take this guy who's behind this. If what you say is true, he's spent the better part of a year plotting revenge, and damn near succeeding. Same time ago, you watched horrible crimes happen against yourself and your sister, and yet you still try to help others instead of doing what this guy's doing."

"So?" Psychology was never Oliver's strong suit.

"I'm just wondering what make a person turn out like that, is all."

"Well, that's a question for the others, Will," Oliver said. "Me, all I know is how to spot a liar and how to figure out what he's gonna do next. The _why_ isn't generally that complicated in my line of work."

"Nor mine." Oliver could hear Will settling on the concrete again. "I mean, think about it—someone had to take the time to make this place up, and make it as it is so we can't get out. That took thought."

"And patience. Clever bastard." Oliver's hands were still reeling from trying to climb small metal pegs barely the width of a three-penny nail. All he'd gotten for his efforts was some deep bruises on his hands and a black mark on his backside when he fell on it. For the last few hours, the younger man had been incessantly thinking on how to possibly escape the hole they were trapped in, and though he'd come up with several ideas, none of them panned out. Oliver had briefly thought of trying to stand on Will's shoulders, or vice versa, but then there were three problems with that—getting caught, the dilemma of how to bring up the baby, and the fact that both Will and Oliver together only reached eleven feet tall, which came up short of the fifteen or so they needed.

The only thing the young man could do was sit, and that bothered him. He couldn't go out and help find the people involved, he couldn't grab an extra shirt or a coat to put on, he couldn't even eat or go to the bathroom properly. _Everything_ now depended on the mercy of others, and that feeling of helplessness was not one that sat well with Oliver.

Just above them, the sound of soft footsteps rang through his ears. Oliver didn't bother to call out, as it had become apparent that either the people holding them didn't speak more than six words of English or just didn't care much about them if they did.

_But then, what about the baby?_ Oliver thought.

"What?"

"Huh?"

"You said, 'what about the baby?'."

"I did?"

"Yeah."

"I'm losing it," Oliver said. "I was thinking—they've thrown us down here with practically nothing, which makes sense if they don't plan on keeping us very long. What surprises me is that they've been tossing odd things in here, though, and all of them have to do with the baby…"

Will thought about that a moment. "Maybe they don't want her to die?"

Oliver pondered. "I dunno," he said. "You said that one of them wanted you to give her to them?"

"Yeah. Then that guy with the gun, he talked to him in that strange Chinese. The little man backed off, and down the hole I went."

"That's the other thing. If they're going to give us things to care for the baby, why put her down here in the first place?"

"I'm not giving her up." Will's voice had a determined edge to it.

"Hey, not saying you would," Oliver said, holding his hands up in a sign of surrender. "Just saying that it seems strange, is all."

"I know. This is no place for someone so small…"

Oblivious to her papa's predicament, Olivia smiled, waving her hands.

"Yeah," Oliver seconded. "This is no place for someone so small."

* * *

Yang Chen crept into the giant barn. His compatriots were busy with other affairs, and he merely wanted a look at the little girl that would be his.

He snuck over to the hatch, pulling up the lid. The Americans were talking, in English. What they said was of no consequence. He couldn't understand it anyway.

As soon as the lid was opened, the voices stopped. There was a rustling of feet on the clean hay that had been placed down there. A little laugh floated up to the surface, and Yang Chen's heart soared.

He closed his eyes, imagining Yang Linshou sitting in the rocker he'd made for her, rocking the little 'lark' to sleep. He could hear his wife's voice singing an old Chinese lullaby, and watching as the little girl slept.

_**Yes, this will be for the best. The foreign man will explain things to them. They will understand.**_

Not wanting to be told off, Yang Chen carefully replaced the lid. The foreign man was expected soon, and things needed to be ready.


	33. The Box Forms

**Sorry for the short chapter--hopefully a longer one will come up in the next few days...**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch 1.**

* * *

_Look at these,_ Petr wrote on Kyle's giant legal tablet, shoving a stack of forms towards the man. _Notice anything?_

The pair, along with Anya, was sitting in a small booth waiting for their soup. The restaurant was known for its soup and salad, but neither of the men were interested in greens at the moment. Kyle pored over the forms, one by one, and noticed something interesting.

_--The handwriting's all the same,_ he pointed out. _There's a guy I can send scans to for comparison, but my best guess is that the same person filled out all of these forms._

_Good, _Petr wrote. _Not only that, but the names are important, too._

_--How so?_

_Each of these people held an important office in their particular department in your government, _the Ukrainian explained. _Like this one, she was the assistant to the Secretary of Labor…this one was a lawyer from the Justice Department, and then you know about those ones… _Petr pointed out two very specific names, one of which Kyle knew very well indeed.

_That can't be right…_

Anya looked up from her Caesar, noticing the written conversation. _Is true,_ she said. _There were more boxes than tape showed. This one different, she signed __two__ out…_

_But that's not her handwriting…nor are __any__ of these… _Kyle's face grew from puzzled to perturbed within a second.

_You find writer, you find cause of problem,_ Anya wrote simply. Beside her, Petr nodded.

--Thanks,-- Kyle said, switching to sign. The two Ukrainians nodded, showing they'd understood. As Kyle got up to leave, he felt his phone vibrating inside his pocket. He pulled it up and looked at the screen.

_Two birds taken from coop. One has eggs. Need food to bring them back._

Kyle's face blanched. He waved his goodbyes to Petr and Anya, who promised to keep close, and raced for Josh's house. Once there, he set up his primitive firewalls and desperately tried to access Garcia's remote system—the one _not_ being watched by allies of Adlington. Josh had someone--Lynch, apparently--looking out to make sure that avenue of information was free from Adlington's eager eyes.

_What happened? _he wrote.

_--Someone snatched Oliver and Will, _the respondent said. _And Will had the baby with him…_

_Shit. What can I do? Chase, is that you?_

_--Yeah, it's me. God, they're gonna come down hard now…_

_Bullshit. Petr and Anya are close, I can get them…_

_--Do it. Come back when they're there with you, I won't have to do this twice._

The screen fell blank. Kyle immediately sent a page to Petr's phone, sending directions and telling the pair to wait on the corner for him to allow them inside. It took forty minutes for the three of them to regroup in front of Kyle's laptop and reconnect.

_They're here, Chase,_ Kyle typed.

_--I need someone to look into a few names I'm sending over. Garcia says that these people lost children within that last five years or so, and more than one child. We're thinking it could be someone who might just want the baby, and Oliver and Will got in the way…_

_But it could be a trap for you all._

_--There's that too. It's a fifty-fifty split that it's both. Look them up, eh?_

_All right. You've heard from these people?_

_--Only once. Expecting a call anytime._

_Damn._

_--Hey, we're doing. Petr, Anya, what'd you find?_

The pair typed in their findings, and Kyle sent over scans of the box forms. _Have Dr. Reid look at these, _Kyle wrote. _I'm sure I can find a sample of handwriting from our major players…_

_--Garcia's got Adlington's. Don't ask._

_Compare them, then. One will get you twenty…_

_--Thanks. Signing off._

The screen went blank again. Petr and Anya took off for the nearest person on the list, and Kyle sat at the empty table once again, relieved that some progress had been made but now worried that something new and dire was taking place…

* * *

**A/N: For those interested in a little humor, there are new oneshots of Chase, Josh, and Oliver posted on FictionPress. Just look up my pen name...**


	34. Little Loops

**Sorry for the delay--been posting original stuff over at FP. Here's the next installment, hope you enjoy!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

Reid settled down with the scans that Kyle had sent, poring over each of the deposit box rental forms. Within seconds he realized something interesting…

"They're all in the same handwriting," he said, lining up each of the forms side by side.

"Same handwriting?" Morgan asked. "You're saying that the same person pretended to be from each agency?"

"Yes. Though…"

"What?" Chase asked.

"Well, look at this," the young doctor replied, pointing out two different spots on two of the forms. "See this little loop here, and here?"

"Reid, I'm looking at a capital 'F' in both cases. They have loops in them," the investigator countered.

"Well, yeah, but it's not the same. See how this one's a little flatter than the other one?"

"Momentary lapse in thought," Morgan argued.

"No. If that were the case, the flat loop would be an anomaly, and the rest of the document would show the round loop. Look here, and here."

Both Chase and Morgan peered at the scan with interest.

"They're all flat," Chase said.

"Exactly. The other ones on these scans are round."

"So, two writers." Morgan was now looking at the other scans, trying to find differences.

"Yeah. One we know for sure did the first three, but this last one here, box 415, that one was someone else trying to make it look like the same person filled out all four forms."

"Where's that sample of Adlington's handwriting we had?" chase called out, hoping someone had it in front of them.

"Here," Garcia called back, printing off three copies of the sample. "Still looking up information on this guy Volkner…"

"One will get you twenty he's our connection to whoever's really pulling the strings here," Chase replied. She looked down at her cell phone, which had remained silent since the mysterious phone call nearly a day ago.

"Damn it, ring," she said to herself as she went over the forms with the sample in hand.

"These three forms are clearly Adlington's work," Reid declared after about forty minutes of checking. "Right down to the round loop on the "F" and the "I's" that are never dotted."

"Okay. Now I'm going to play devil's advocate a minute," Chase said. "Say I'm the string-puller, and I'm trying to frame Adlington. I mean, I know I can do this because of the frame job I've put on you lot, so why not on my own people to distance myself?"

"True, but there also the type of language to consider."

"There's a _type_?!"

"Yeah. In these three forms, in the part where the applicant has to fill out the purpose of the box and what kinds of things will be mailed and stored there, the language and diction are consistent."

"And on that one?"

"Consistent, but not identical. See in these ones, how there's comma splices, fragments, the word 'received' is misspelled?"

Both Morgan and Chase looked. "Yeah…" they said in unison.

"Now look at this one."

Both complied. "On this one, 'received' is spelled right," Chase said.

"And there's no fragments," Morgan concurred. "But it _looks _like Adlington's handwriting…"

"Basically, someone's making it look like Adlington had something to do with the bombing. Do we know which box blew up in Roanoke?"

"Not offhand…hey, baby girl!"

"Yeah?"

"Can you look up which box was the one that blew up in Roanoke?"

"The one with the bomb in it? Yeah, hang on…"

Three people waited with baited breath as Garcia quickly searched for the answer on her laptop.

"Garcia, we're not getting any younger," Chase pointed out after about five minutes. "And Oliver, Will and the baby are not getting any closer…"

"Almost…got it! Box number was 415."

"415? Garcia, are you sure?"

"Yeah. The other boxes were intact, just empty. Only one that had to be replaced…why?"

"Shit," Chase said.

"What?"

"We've got Adlington by the short ones for conspiracy, but we can't get him for the bombing. Like as not he'll say he was working with you all in that affair…"

"Wait—we can get Adlington for conspiracy?" Rossi asked, coming in from trying to settle JJ again.

Chase, Reid and Morgan all pointed out the inconsistencies in the forms, and that Adlington's handwriting sample matched three of the four and was a close match to the fourth, but not a good one.

"Well, that's something…"

"I'll find Mo, tell him to go down to the courthouse in Philadelphia. With this, I'm sure we can cast enough doubt to at least get you guys on bail, though I still don't recommend us leaving the grounds here," Chase said. She ran her hand over her pocket as she left, still waiting for the mysterious caller to shed some light on what was going on.

* * *

Yang Chen was still a little intimidated by the foreign man. He was tall, with hair like straw and a deep voice. He spoke decent Mandarin, but no Cantonese, though there was some strange language he spoke as well. It did not sound like the Frenchman's language—it was harsher.

"**Welcome, sir,"** the little man said.

"**I trust you have him?" **

"**Yes, sir. Two of them. They have the little one with them."**

The foreign man's eyes widened a little at that. **"You put the child in with them?"**

"**Sir, it was the only way to make them go," **the leader of the little group said. **"The Frenchman would not give her up, and you were certain to remind us not to harm them."**

"**I see. Well, I shall speak to them. You, sir, will have your child soon enough."**

Yang Chen couldn't believe his luck. **"You will convince them?"**

"**I believe that, in time, they can be convinced. I cannot promise when, for, as you've said, having her there makes them more docile and less likely to fight. But I think I can hurry things." **The man smiled, a strange sort of smile. **"Now, if you would leave us?"**

The three gardeners left, Yang Chen trying desperately to stay close in case his prize were to be given to him.

As soon as the three men left, the foreign man strode over to the hatch opening. He lifted the cover and peered inside.

"Well, well, well," he crooned, catching the sight of a shirtless and shivering Oliver Lawrence. "Now _you_ I didn't expect to see…"

Oliver stared up at the voice. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"Let's just say I'm here to help settle an old debt," the foreign man replied.

"Yeah. I figured. What does all this have to do with us?"

"With you, everything. With your friend down there, not so much. Alas, collateral damage. I would think you'd be used to that by now, given your chosen profession…"

"Look. Either kill us or let us go," Oliver said. "Whatever else there is, I'm not going for it." He tried to keep his voice low so as not to wake neither the baby nor Will, who had nearly collapsed from exhaustion just minutes before.

"Oh. Well. I suppose your boss will be most upset then, Lawrence," the foreign man said. "Seeing as she doesn't take 'losing people' well at all…"

"Chase? This is about Chase?"

"And you, and your friends. They took something from my employer…"

"Your employer?"

"Mmm. Something most valuable. My employer intends to make sure that _all_ of you pay for your roles in that affair, some to the utmost."

The amount of curses that ran through Oliver's head was astonishing. However, he said nothing.

"What? No quick answer? Perhaps the cold is getting to you…"

Oliver's teeth began to chatter. The cold snap had picked up, and he was wrapping his arms around himself to stay warm—though it wasn't helping much. "Please, let Will and the baby go," he asked. "They didn't have anything to do with…"

"No, but people close to them did. And for that, they suffer. Though, I can have arrangements made for the little one…so that she is cared for, and better than you can in your current situation…"

Oliver knew better. Will would never consent to it, and there was no way to know where Olivia would be taken—or if she would ever return.

"I can't," Oliver said flatly.

"Well, there's time. Perhaps your friend will be convinced…"

"I doubt it."

"Hmm. We'll see."

Before Oliver knew it, the hatch had closed again, leaving him once more bathed in a swath of endless black. A tiny coo floated up from the pallet of hay where both Olivia and Will slept. Oliver sat down near the pair, now worried—_if they're making plans for the baby, what's to become of the rest of us?_


	35. Decisions

**The plot thickens...**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

Will woke to the sight of Oliver sitting in a corner of the dark space, his arms wrapped tightly around his frame. A serious look was plastered on the younger man's face, as if he's seen or heard something he didn't want to think about.

"What is it?" the Cajun asked, now concerned.

"I just had an interesting conversation…"

"With who? Surely not those people up there?"

"No, not the ones you're thinking of. There was another man, German maybe, or Russian…anyway, whoever he's working for, he's not going to make things easy on any of us."

Will make a show of looking around at his current surroundings. "Really?"

"Not like that. I was right, though—this has everything to do with the incident in Silver Spring nearly a year ago."

"What else did he say?"

Oliver looked coldly at the floor, and Will knew something was bothering him.

"He said that we were going to suffer, all of us, for what happened there."

"All of—but I…."

"That's what I said. His answer was that both you and the baby are close to people who _were_ involved, hence why you're still down here."

Just then Olivia began to cry. Will looked around for the bowl of milk, but was pained to find that it was nearly empty. He began the ritual of soaking the cloth in the liquid for the baby to suck on, but after about three minutes the milk was gone and his daughter was crying again.

"There's nothing left," Will said, panicked. "What am I going to do?"

Oliver stood up and ran to the hatch opening. "Hey!" he shouted, not caring what he'd have to give up. "Hello?! Is anyone up there? Can anyone hear me?!"

Soon both men were calling out, accompanied by Olivia's wails. It seemed like an hour before Will could make out footsteps coming closer towards the hole in the ceiling. A face peered inside—one framed by a mass of blonde hair.

"Please," Will cried, not caring how much of his dignity he'd have to give up. "Please, the baby…"

"Yes? What about her?"

"She needs milk. Please, let me feed her…she's so little, she doesn't have anything to do with this…"

A red flash kept time, and soon Will realized that this conversation was being recorded. "What are you…?"

"Hey, what the hell?" Oliver asked, standing next to his friend. The younger man's face was a flurry of worry, confusion, and anger. Beside Will's chest, Olivia continued to wail, her tiny fists waving and her feet kicking out.

"Such a sight," the foreign man crooned. "Two men at the top of their game, and they can't even take care of a baby…"

Will held Olivia closer, trying to quiet her. The little girl would not be appeased.

"I know better than to ask, but…" the foreign man said, letting the sentence trail off.

"But what?"

"I can see that the child is cared for. _Properly_," the man added, as if trying to make a point.

"What's he…?"

"They want you to give them the baby, Will," Oliver said slowly.

"Never!"

"You would let your child die?" the foreign man asked.

Will looked at his daughter, just barely a week old. She was absolutely everything to him, and here he was, not able to even feed her and just barely able to keep her warm.

"Please, just give us some more milk," Will begged.

"Now, that can get costly," the man above them replied. "I'm not sure what my employer would think of that…"

"Is your employer so heartless that he would murder an infant?!" Oliver shouted, his rage at being unable to solve the problem becoming apparent. Above him, the red light flashed on.

"I do not believe you can say much about heartlessness, Mr. Lawrence," the man said evenly. "After all, I know much about you…"

"Bullshit!"

"I know you were willing to sacrifice several lives in order to save your own, and your sister's…"

The statement struck like a punch to the gut. Oliver fell instantly silent.

In the midst of all this, little Olivia continued to cry. Her face was turning red from the exertion and her cries became weaker and more sporadic.

"Please, let me feed her…" Will pleaded.

The man above them thought about this for a moment. After a few tense minutes, a basket was lowered, containing another bottle of milk.

"I'd be sure to make that last, gentlemen," the man said warningly. "I'm afraid this is the last one I can give you. After that, you will need to seriously consider my offer…" With that, the hatch cover closed tightly on the hole in the ceiling as soon as the basket came up.

Will was so grateful to have the milk he barely heard the man speaking. Oliver, on the other hand, heard every word. He knew he'd have to find a way out of this mess, or else more hung in the balance than just their lives…

* * *

Mo Li raced through the halls of the fourteenth floor, looking as undignified as he'd ever looked in public. He didn't stop his frantic pace until he reached a certain oak door.

"Josh! We've got something!"

The older agent looked at the young man, his hair askew, his shirt in wrinkles, and panting as if he'd run the first marathon. "You 'ave sometheeng?"

"Documents that prove Adlington's behind this, at least in part." Mo laid out copies of the forms and pointed out all of the inconsistencies between the form for box 415 and the other boxes. "Bottom line is, Adlington's been caught red-handed—we can nail him on conspiracy as well as fraud and other counts."

Mo watched as the older man's eyes lightened for the first time in nearly two and a half months. "That eediot! Arrogant preek! Oh, thees ees a day I weel cairtainly relish, that I promise you!" Josh said as he sprang from his seat.

"Hey, where are you…?"

"To go put that eembecile een 'is place," Josh replied.

"Just like that?"

Josh stopped for a minute. He looked at the lawyer, who looked concerned now. "What ees eet?"

"We need him to tell us who's really behind all this—the frame-up, the kidnapping, the attempts on the agents in Philadelphia…"

"Keednapping? When was thees?"

"Two days ago. Someone snatched Will LaMontaigne and Oliver, Josh—and they took Miss Jareau's baby with them."

Josh looked at Mo as if the world had suddenly gone completely Communist. His mouth dropped open as wide as a cavern.

"No…thees is a lie…"

"All true. Miss Jareau is beside herself, and Chase is trying to hide her panic—she really cares about Oliver, you know…"

"The baby?"

"We don't know. On that point, the whole place is upset. I personally would like to try the bastards in my country on that count."

"As would I. Your country, it would not bee so nice."

"Damn right."

Josh now worried that a quick takeover of Adlington's office would bring more harm to his protégé and the little one the everyone feared for. He himself could not stand the thought of retribution against a child, nor of an innocent person like the Southern Frenchman…

"Thees weel take some thought. But make no meestake…I weel 'ave 'im by tonight," Josh promised. "Fairst, I weel tell Mr. Pairker…"

"Some advice?"

"Yes?"

"I'd let your mole in tech know too. I think he could be very useful now, and would likely be only too happy to help."

Josh let that idea roll about in his mind a minute. "Yes…yes, that could work…"

* * *

By midnight the team was walking around in a sleep-induced daze. JJ had settled onto a couch in the drawing room, refusing to sleep and barely eating. Garcia was trying to find some scrap of information that could help solidify their case against Adlington, but wasn't coming up with much. Song Fei was trying to coax JJ into eating something, but to no avail. Chase herself was pacing like a rooster caged in a tiny box, looking desperately for a way out.

"Damn it, ring!" she finally cried out, startling the other women in with her. The men, along with Prentiss, had all gone into another room, giving themselves some space to pore over what little information Garcia had managed to find.

Just then there was a cheerful 'ding' that sounded off of Garcia's laptop.

"You expecting mail, Garcia?" Chase asked quickly.

"N-no," the blonde tech replied, looking curiously at the tagline. "I can't tell who sent this—the sender's name is blocked…"

"Can you unblock it?"

"I can try, hang on…" Garcia's fingers flew over the board a few minutes, until finally the computer goddess cried out in exasperation. "No use. Whoever's behind this thing, they're _really_ good…"

"Open it," JJ said, leaping up and standing behind Garcia.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, JJ," Chase said.

"It might be about Will, and the baby!"

"Or it might be someone trying to pull a trace," Chase cautioned.

"Don't you want to know what's going _on_? Don't you _care_ what happens…" JJ cried.

"JJ…" Garcia said meekly, understanding where her friend was coming from but not agreeing with her.

"Of _course_ I do!" Chase said. "A lot more than you think, JJ—if they die, it's _my _fault! Don't you see?"

"_Your _fault?" a voice said, stopping the arguement cold. Both women looked as Hotch walked in, his hands full of the files and papers Garcia had managed to print off. "How is this _your_ fault, Chase?"

"It just is. Drop it."

"You think…"

"I said, _leave it alone._ We'll deal with it later."

"What are you two…"

"Garcia got an email," JJ said quickly.

"Did you…?"

"No, sir," Garcia replied. "That was what the argument was about."

"You didn't open it?"

"No, sir."

"Do it."

As Chase opened her mouth to protest, Hotch stared at her. The young woman immediately fell silent.

"Open it," Hotch repeated. Garcia heaved a deep breath, and clicked on the link.


	36. Time in a Bottle

**Decisions, decisions...**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

A few seconds after Garcia clicked on the mail link, the screen went completely black.

"I don't like this," Chase said, her voice nearly a whisper.

The blank screen faded to the sight of what looked like a picture frame—a frame made of light colored wood that splintered in places and held a dark picture within it. After a few seconds there was a sharp sound--that of a baby crying.

"Olivia!" JJ cried, her face growing more pale and strained.

Then there were more voices—Will's, and Oliver's, calling out for someone to help them, or at least _speak _with them. The clamor of cries that sounded from the dark square were enough to make a few faces wince with sorrow and pity.

Then a thick accented voice called down to them, one whose owner cleverly remained offscreen. "Yes, what about her?" it said.

The team heard Will's desperate plea for some milk to feed Olivia.

"Oh, my God," Chase said sharply. "They put her down there with them…"

"Will wouldn't give her up," JJ replied simply.

"Well, yeah. I didn't think he would, if he had a choice. I'm more surprised that _these people_ would do such a thing, nearly starving a baby…"

"Why would someone _do_ that?" Song Fei asked, momentarily forgetting her place. No one minded.

"It's a control issue," Hotch explained. "They know Will won't give up the baby, so they 'let' him keep her—only there's no real way to care for a week-old infant in that prison they're trapped in, it seems like."

"Control? This is control?" Song Fei wondered.

"I'm pretty sure Will wouldn't go in that hole willingly, but by letting him keep Olivia with him, it made him more…open…to the idea," Chase added.

"Ah."

"Plus, it serves a double purpose—now they can 'convince' both Will and Oliver to do something they wouldn't normally, just to be able to take care of the baby."

"Ah."

The voices came up again, and this time the thick voice made its ultimatum: "I can see that the child is cared for. _Properly._"

Then Will's: "What's he…"

Then Oliver's, slowly: "They want you to give them the baby, Will."

Five pairs of eyes grew wider at the idea of the man's request. Five pairs of ears were relieved when Will cried "Never!"—JJ especially, who was trying to hide the fact that she was crying herself.

The man spoke again: "You would let your child die?"

Between Olivia's wails, the gravity of the situation sank heavily onto everyone who heard that message. Chase's ears were thrilled to hear Oliver call out the man on his heartlessness and cruelty.

"What's he getting at?" Garcia asked, now extremely worried.

"They're going to force them into an impossible choice," Hotch said. On the screen, something was lowered down in a basket and a few more words were said. Only the last bit was caught: "…after that, you will seriously need to consider my offer…" Moments after that, a large wooden lid was placed over the hole, and the camera turned off.

"Damn it!" Chase shouted, loud enough to bring the others in from the next room. Morgan was the first one to reach the doorway.

"What happened?" he said, looking at a room full of anxious people, some with anger and despair crossing their faces.

"They sent a video of sorts," Hotch said. "They're starving them, or only giving them what they absolutely have to…"

"What?" This cry came from the three newcomers.

"That's not all," Chase added. "It looks like Will has the baby with him, but they're running out of milk for her…"

"These bastards would starve out an infant?!" Rossi declared, thoroughly shocked.

"More than that," Chase continued. "They're going to make it impossible for him to keep her…"

"What does that mean?" Prentiss asked. "Like they'd make Will and Oliver…_"_

"No, I don't think so," Hotch said. "But it seems they are going to force them to choose over who gets her—them or these people keeping them."

The whole room fell silent for several minutes.

"He wouldn't…"

"No…"

"Not…"

"Honestly, I don't know," Chase said finally. "But one thing is absolutely certain—we're running out of time."

Just then another cheerful 'ding' sounded from Garcia's laptop. Without caring where it came from, Garcia clicked on the link and opened it.

_If you can figure out how long a bottle of milk can last, you've figured out how much time you have left, _the email read. _The choice you have is simple—will you give up your liberty for theirs? _

JJ didn't hesitate. "I'm going," she said, her face as determined as ever.

"No, JJ--wait!" Chase cried, racing down the hall and catching the woman. "You can't…"

"I won't let them die there—not like that!"

"I don't think they'll kill them," Chase reasoned. "Plus we have a way out of this too—_without _caving in to demands."

"_How?!"_ the little blonde shrieked, the fear and anguish evident. "How can we _not_ give ourselves up?!"

"Because that's _exactly _what this guy wants!" Chase yelled. "Either way, we lose. All of us," she said, waving an extended arm out towards the rest of the team, who was now standing in the hallway watching. "JJ, I don't want anything to happen to Olivia, or Will, or Oliver—you know that," Chase said, trying to stay in check. "But just giving up—that's not the answer. They'll never stop. Do you understand? _They'll never stop_. Not until we're all either dead or in such misery that we end ourselves."

"How do you know? How can you be _sure?!_"

"Because a person just bent on us wouldn't have involved a baby," Chase said, drawing the now sobbing figure into a great hug. "They wouldn't have, this much I know."

* * *

In the small house next to the barn, the foreign man privately held a few words with Yang Chen.

"**I believe in two days you will be able to take the child," **he said. **"I would make sure things are ready for her arrival. Have you decided where you will go?"**

"**Go?"**

"**It would be unwise to stay here, with people looking for the child. Perhaps going back to your hometown…?"**

Yang Chen thought about this. His wife wanted to be somewhere with a small pond, and trees. He wanted to be able to work, so he could care for the little lark. Neither one had done much traveling since they arrived in America, but Yang Chen had heard that there were places along the sea where rich people kept big houses, and there were ponds.

"**There is no place left for us in China, no family," **he replied. **"Would it be possible to move to the sea? Someplace where there is need of a skilled gardener?"**

The foreign man thought about this. He was certain his employer had a place over in Washington State that might suit the little man…

"**Let me speak with my employer," **the foreign man said. **"Until then, make the arrangements to pack."**

"**What will I tell my wife?"**

"**Tell her you have received a promotion, and are going to work for another employer who lives on the sea…"**

Yang Chen couldn't believe his luck. A new baby, and a chance at starting over…it was almost too good to be true.

* * *

Oliver watched as Will fed Olivia, carefully keeping track of the milk level in the glass bottle. About a third of it was gone.

"Will…" he said, not wanting to have this conversation but knowing it had to be done.

"Shh," the Cajun said, putting a finger to his lips. "She's asleep."

"Will," Oliver repeated, more softly. "What are we going to do?"

"I won't give her up. I _won't,_" Will said, his voice a fierce whisper.

Oliver took a breath. "I don't think you'll have a choice."

"What are you…"

"I don't like it any more than you do. If I could like it _less_ than you do, I would. But what other option is there?"

Will sighed, a sigh of defeat. "She can die with me, with us," he said flatly.

"Do you really want that? Do you really want her to die?" Oliver ran a light finger over the sleeping girl, who wriggled a little under the soft touch but still slept on.

"Of course not! There _has_ to be another way…"

"I've spent the better part of probably two days looking for a way out of here, Will. The walls are made of concrete sunk deep into a giant hole in the earth. The ceiling's fifteen feet or more above us. There's no cracks or stones we can use to climb up to the hole in the middle of our ceiling, which is nowhere near any of the walls in this space. The only thing to climb on is along the farthest point away from the opening. I've tried climbing splinters, nails, even parts of stones that come out even a millimeter from the wall—all to no avail. Even _I_ don't want to admit this, but I have to—there is _literally­_ no way out of here that those bastards aren't giving us."

"There's still time," Will said, looking now at the bottle of milk.

"But how much?" Oliver asked, and began pacing again. His stomach growled, but he tried to ignore it. There wasn't any food down there—not for them, anyway.

"There's still time," Will repeated, clinging on to whatever hope remained.


	37. Measures

**The plot thickens...**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

Adlington stepped into his dark apartment. He was a little on edge after the massive computer glitch that had kept him busy most of the day and not focused on the main goal of getting those profilers off of the Chinese embassy grounds in Pennsylvania. He remembered that tech coming in and looking damn near apologetic when he was told that someone had set off an electromagnet somewhere in the building, which had wiped a few hundred sets of personnel files.

"Then that's a tech problem," he'd replied. "Why are you coming to me?"

"Because, sir, your file was one of the ones erased…"

And that was when the day went to hell. He'd had to spend nearly six hours convincing the personnel office that he was in fact a member of the FBI. When he tried to settle himself by going out to lunch, he found that his credit cards were maxed out. He'd had to leapfrog over calls from bill collectors that claimed he was late on his payments on damn near _everything_—the electric company nearly cut him off for nonpayment over three months! When he asked why he was getting calls, the answer was always the same—"your payment wasn't listed in the computer…"

_If I have to deal with one more computer today, I'm just going to put a bullet into it, _Adlington thought as he kicked his shoes over towards the door. He flipped the light switch, sighed with relief as he watched the light bulbs flicker and glow a warm bronze from the chandelier, and began settling down for the evening. On his way to fix himself a Scotch, he noticed that two of his bar glasses were missing, and there were little drops of water settled near the ice bowl.

_Did I just leave them in the sink? _he wondered. _I'm really not in the mood to look…_

The pounding headache he was trying to drown out throbbed incessantly behind his temples. Adlington wandered into the darkened living room, purposely leaving the lights off. He didn't like to see himself when he drank, and the dark would be good for his eyes and his headache. Stealing a glance at the wall clock in the entryway, he wasn't very surprised to see that it was almost one in the morning. Adlington settled down in his favorite chair and took a sip of Scotch, trying to let the stress melt away.

Moments later, he felt a hard jerk on his arms, then struggled as the limbs were pulled back behind the chair and bound. The light in the entryway went completely off, and the sounds of footsteps assailed his ears.

"What the hell?!" Adlington screamed, hoping someone would hear him.

Something sharp worked its way over his chest and towards his throat. A slight glint of moonlight reflected off the intrusive object—it looked to Adlington like a very long blade of some sort, and the pressure it exerted on his throat told him it was razor sharp.

"Not a sound," a voice said. It was not a voice Adlington remembered hearing before. There was a little bit of an accent, but he couldn't place it…

"Wh-who are you?" the man asked, all his usual belligerence now lost.

"That ees not eemportant," another voice said, this one more familiar. Adlington's eyes shifted from the figure in front of him to the sound coming from his sofa. In the dark, he could barely make out the outlines of two shapes sitting on it.

"Hollenbeck? Is that you? By God, I'll have your…"

"What, eexactly?" Josh said evenly. "You, sair, have quite the list een front of you…"

"What the hell are you talking about?!"

"Lowair your voice, sair, or else."

"Or else _what?_"

The intrusive blade pressed harshly against Adlington's throat. He quieted immediately.

"You've been busy," Josh said again. "Planting eveedence, fileeng false accusations—even your phone calls to several 'questionable' sources."

"Questionable?" Adlington tried to keep his voice low, so as not to encourage the blade to work itself deeper into his flesh.

"What's in Silver Spring?"

"Never heard…"

The blade moved closer. "Some guy," Adlington replied. "Runs a corporation out there, asked for my help."

"Names?"

"I don't have any. Was approached by an intermediary—some guy named Volkner…" The pressure of the blade on his throat began to worry Adlington. If the person holding it made one false slip, it would be disastrous for him.

In the dark, the sound of pen to paper could be made out, scratching itself onto the surface.

"You know, then, that we 'ave you for thees eencident with the peeple on ten, yes?"

"The profilers?"

"Yes, that's eet," Josh said, picking up his considerable bulk and stepping closer. "You wair stupeed—feeling out all those forms een one 'and…"

_Forms? _"What forms?"

"The forms for the boxes een Roanoke," the older man said simply. "Right now we air tracing your records—even _one_ call to a blank cell phone, and we've got you. We already 'ave you now, really…"

Adlington gulped.

"Now, eef you weesh to make yourself useful, you weel tell us all about thees keednap plot," Josh said. He waited a few minutes to let the words sink into Adlington's brain.

Not three minutes later, Adlington sputtered. "Kidnapping?! What kidnapping? _This?_ Oh, your ass is _still_ mine…!"

"I do not theek so. We air just…'ow you say, ''aving a conversation?'"

"While I'm tied to a chair and being coerced? Is that how it works where _you're _from?"

Adlington felt hot breath blow across his face. He tried to shy away from it, to no avail. "Where I come from, we do not keednap eenfants from their mothers, or force fathers to choose between the life and death of their child, nor of their separation from their parents," he heard Josh say icily.

"What the…"

"Rest assured, eef anything 'appens to that child, _you_ weel be as responsible as those who put that child een dangair," Josh continued. "Eef I were you, I would speak now."

Adlington's mind raced. He couldn't believe what he was being told. "I can't…he _did _it?"

"Come. One minute. Tell us, or we chairge you now…"

"Volkner. If this guy behind the scenes is running things, Volkner's the man in the field. The guy mentioned something about wanting to find disgruntled Chinese to help with his 'plan,' but I don't know anything about kidnapping…you _have_ to _believe_ me, I didn't…!"

"Deesgruntled? 'ow so?"

"I dunno, people looking to make better money or get a better position or something. Hell, if you say that child's been taken, I'd look for people on that estate looking to have one…"

Adlington was never so relieved in all his life when the blade receded from his throat—but that relief was short-lived as it made its way back slightly.

"You air saying that the peeple on ten, they 'ad _nothing_ to do with the events een Roanoke?"

"Yes. It was a set up, all of it. But I can't give you the man behind the curtain, I can't."

The sound of a small _click_ assailed Adlington's ears.

"What the…you were _recording me_?!"

"Of course."

"You can't use it, it was given under duress…"

"Who says eet was? I guarantee, my word een court weel be much more credible than yours, now. Especeeally after your 'othair' cases come to light…"

Adlington felt as though he'd been kicked in the stomach. He was finished, and he knew it.

The man holding the knife took the hateful weapon away, and used it to cut Adlington's bonds. The bonds were replaced by a pair of steel handcuffs, and he hung his head in shame as Josh Hollenbeck and his companion led him out of the room. Once their suspect was safely in the car, Josh turned to the younger man standing next to him.

"Go now, and find thees peeple," he said. "She ees waiting…they all are, as am I."

"I'm on my way back," said Petr, who hopped into a waiting car with Anya at the wheel.

* * *

Another few hours passed. Oliver was relieved that the baby was still asleep. He looked at the milk bottle, now concerned that it was getting dangerously close to half-empty.

_At the rate she's eating, we won't be able to last the day,_ he worried. _And I wouldn't ever not feed a baby…_

He stared up at the now-closed hatch opening, listening to the sound of faint footsteps coming from farther away.

_If we give her up, there's no guarantee we'll ever get her back. I know Chase and I wouldn't stop until we found her again, but how long would that take? Weeks? Months? Years? Would we __ever__ find her again?_

There was a part of him that was glad that the choice was not his to make—that that burden fell on Will's shoulders instead of his. Still, he agonized over the scant options that were available to them, and none were pleasant.

Oliver walked over to the large water basin and took a long drink. The water tasted like it had been sitting in the concrete container for far too long, but at this point it didn't matter. There was no food, nor did he think any would be given to them.

_They're trying to kill us slowly,_ he realized. _Use __us__ as the measure of how long the rest have to give themselves up, I bet…_

Just then there was a small cry. Will was lying next to Olivia, fast asleep, his face a picture of black thoughts and nightmares. Oliver picked up the little girl and began to rock her.

"Hey, it's okay," he said, trying to soothe her. "It's okay…me and your Dad, we're gonna figure this out, all right? We're gonna get out of here, you'll see…"


	38. The Last Resort

**Okay folks, this one's really, really dark. And angsty. I expect tears. Possibly calls for my head. But there's still more story to come, so stay tuned...  
**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

Song Fei hurried downstairs. She wasted no time in locating the man she was looking for, and then took leave to speak.

"Uncle, can we speak? In English?"

"Yes, what is it?"

"Miss Charlotte, she asks that you come with me into the drawing room. She thinks there might be a way to find the sparrow's baby…"

"Of course." The two made haste for the drawing room, where eight people sat waiting on sharp pins and broken needles.

"Miss Charlotte?" Han Wei asked. "How may I help?"

"Ah, Han Wei," the youngest man asked—the tall angel. "Did you ever find out which of the gardeners were missing?"

"Two of them I do," the house steward replied. "A younger man, Han Lin, and another, Soo Li, were among them. The third one I do not know, but I am still looking…"

"These two you mentioned," the statue man asked, his face still as hard as stone. "What kind of workers were they?"

"That, sir, I could not say—but I can bring up the head gardener; he would surely know better than I…"

"No. Why don't we go to him?" the older gentleman—the one the downstairs people all called Grandfather—suggested. "Come on, Hotch, I think I need a trip on the grounds…"

The statue man stood up, along with Miss Charlotte. "Sit tight, and _do not_ go doing anything stupid," she warned her friends as she began to close the door behind her. "Call us if anything changes…."

As the party walked down the hall, Grandfather asked a strange question. "Why do you call Miss Davis "Miss Charlotte"?"

Before Han Wei or Song Fei could answer, Miss Charlotte answered. "Because that's my name, really. Charlotte Elizabeth Davis. I've been called Chase since before I could remember, so I never really use my whole name. I was named after a great-aunt of my mother's that was apparently quite the adventurer…"

"I see. But then…"

"I was here when…something happened. When the phone call came, Han Wei picked up the phone, and they used that name. It stuck, I guess." The Americans spoke in soft tones, their current errand still weighing heavily on their minds.

"Aha. Hate to think what they're calling everyone else."

A flash of a smile played on Miss Charlotte's lips.

As soon as the party stepped outside, it was just breaking dawn over the grounds. The gardeners had been at work since five, busily tending the large upkeep of the plants and trees the estate had to offer. Near a large topiary, Wong Chinzu wielded a set of pruning shears with all the expertise of an artist.

"**Wong Chinzu?" **Miss Charlotte asked, falling into the house language.

"**Yes?" **The round gardener turned to see two of the Americans standing before him, as well as the young Master's friend that most everyone knew well.

"**Do you speak English?"**

"Little."

"**Okay. We need to know about the gardeners that went missing."**

"**What about them?"**

"**What kind of workers were they?"**

The head gardener thought about this for a moment. **"Han Lin, he is young; raised in America, has not the ethic of his ancestors. A good lad, but not ambitious."**

"**And Soo Li?"**

"**Always thinking. He works, but not to potential. Others are always cleaning up after him."**

"**How about with other people--how are these guys?"**

"**Friendly, Han Lin is. Never a cross word about him in that sense. He likes to laugh, likes to make fun."**

"**And Soo Li?"**

"**Closed. Moody. Others think he would like the Master's position if he could get it. I think he finds the gardens beneath him."**

Miss Charlotte translated this back to the Americans as they spoke. They said something in English, something Wong Chinzu could not understand much.

"**The third gardener…who is he?"**

"**This I do not know. A relative of a house servant, I think."**

The tall statue man asked a question of Han Wei, who spoke in their language. The house steward shook his head, a shroud of empathy and puzzlement lining his features.

"**Does anyone here know if he'd been working here long?"**

"**Not very long, if I don't know him yet. Perhaps a couple of months?"**

Miss Charlotte translated again, and the older gentleman asked a question.

"**The gardeners that leave every night—where do they go?"**

"**To the small village, I expect. Most take rooms there until they can get something better."**

"**How far away?"**

"**Three miles. Not far."**

"**Is there anyone who could give a description of these men?"**

"**Possibly. I can describe Han Lin for you."**

"**Later on today we're going to have you sit with an artist. You'll tell them what he looks like, and they'll draw a picture of him. Okay?"**

"**Certainly. I hope you find the lark in time." **Wong Chinzu's face showed his sincere expression of worry for the child, and hope that she would be found.

"**Thank you, sir. I will come later in the day."**

"**Very well."**

As the party broke from the conversation, Chase spoke up. "Who on your team is good with drawing?" she asked Hotch. "Oliver's usually my go-to guy in that area…"

"And we don't have him." The man heaved a great sigh. "I'll ask, but we may have to settle for one of Reid's drawings."

"Wonderful!"

"Not really," said Rossi. "I've seen some of them—they don't really look like a professional portrait."

"It's what we've got. I'm hoping Petr and Anya can find something." Chase dug her phone out of her pocket, and directed the Ukrainians towards the small village just out of the team's reach. "Let me know if anything turns up," she said, closing the phone.

"I hope this works, Chase," Rossi said.

"You and me both," the young woman admitted softly.

* * *

"**Come, we must pack."**

"**But why?" **Yang Linshou asked. She had just gotten things settled in this small house, and there was the possibility of work at a neighboring shop in the village.

"**I have gotten a new job. One on the sea, with a pond and trees."**

"**Where?"**

"**This I do not know yet. The man who hired me will tell me tomorrow. But we must pack."**

"**Someone needs a gardener?"**

"**A rich man, with an estate like the Master's. I can do well there."**

"**But…but my aunt, and Song Fei…" **Yang Linshou said, faltering. Wei Lin was the only family she had left, after her husband. Song Fei was her only friend. She did not want to leave them…

"**Come, Linshou. This is a chance to start over, to try again. To leave all the bad memories behind."**

Yang Linshou looked at the small white crib, still standing in a corner of the bedroom. She hadn't had the heart to put it away, even after all this time. She thought often of her baby—the one she'd just lost. He would be about four months old now, getting stronger, smiling…

"**Come. This is for the best."**

Yang Linshou sighed heavily. Her husband was right. It was no good to stay with all the old memories, all the bad memories. She reached into her small cupboard and began to stack the dishes into a neat pile for Yang Chen to pack in a small carton.

* * *

The milk bottle was now nearly empty. Will stared at the last remnants of white liquid as he carefully drained the bottle of its contents. Within a minute Olivia had eaten the drippings and began to cry louder, her small stomach still ferociously hungry.

"There's nothing left, Oliver," he cried, first softly and then louder. "There's nothing left…"

Oliver looked cautiously at the ceiling. He didn't want to call out for their captors. He stood there, helpless to solve the problem as Will tried in vain to quiet his starving child.

The two men had been in this dark hole for days. There was no way for Oliver to tell time in the space, so it could have been two days or five for all he knew. What he did know was this—they couldn't starve the baby. They _couldn't._

"Isn't there anything we can do?" Will asked, though he already knew the answer. Not wanting to admit defeat, Oliver slowly shook his head. Olivia's wails grew into shrieks, her tiny fists beating against Will's chest and the air above her. The thin cloth that served as her diaper was still wet from being cleaned, and the scrap of flannel that had been tossed to them was the only thing keeping her warm from the damp chill. Will laid a hand on his daughter's face, and it was unusually warm.

"Touch her head," he asked Oliver. Oliver did so, and saw immediately what his friend was talking about.

"She's got a temperature," Oliver said. "She's got no immune system, there's no medicine…"

"We've got the water. Maybe we can shock it out of her?"

Oliver placed a hand in the water. It was ice cold, the result of being stored below ground in concrete. "The cold would make things worse," he said.

"What if we splashed it over her—gave it a chance to warm up?"

Oliver considered that. "That _might _work. Worth a try."

Will brought the baby closer, holding her just over the water. Oliver cupped his hand and carefully poured the cold water from his hand over her head, making sure not to pour too much at once. The baby continued to wail, scrunching her eyes up at the intrusive liquid that fell onto her face.

The ritual of pouring water continued for several minutes. After the seventh handful of water, Will wrapped Olivia back up and felt her forehead again.

It was still warm.

Will was heartbroken. He knew he was going to die—there was no reason to keep him alive once he gave up Olivia. Nor was there reason to keep Oliver alive after that. A part of him wanted to cradle his daughter into his arms and let them all just slowly expire, the effects of starvation. But the greater part of him wanted his child to have a chance at life—one she couldn't get in this hole.

"I don't know how much longer we can hold out," Will said.

"With no medicine, she'll die for sure," Oliver said, merely stating facts. "We don't have any milk, or formula, or anything we can use to feed her. The rags we've got are getting pretty filthy because we can't clean them with soap, which'll lead to even more disease. And there's no hope of escaping this death trap."

"I know."

"Will, what are you thinking?" Oliver asked, a note of warning in his voice.

Will looked down at Olivia. She had screamed herself to sleep, her face still red and warm from the fever.

"Call them," he said.

"Will…!"

"We're gonna die here," Will reasoned. "I don't want to do that to her, not if I can help it. Call them."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

Will stared again at his sleeping child. "Of course not. But it's the only way…"

"You know we won't stop until we find her again. You _know_ that?"

"I do. And if we don't get out of here, then JJ and Chase and the others will do the same. I just…"

Oliver looked away as he heard the Cajun man break down into sobs. He wanted to give him that moment alone, if he could. Instead, he walked heavily over and lifted his face towards the ceiling.

"Hey! Can anyone hear me! Please, someone…!"

After a few minutes, the hatch opened. "Yes?" the blond man with the heavy accent asked.

"Will," Oliver said softly, calling the grieving father over.

"Please, let us go," Will begged. "The baby…she's sick…"

"Have you thought about my offer?"

There was silence a moment. "Yes," Will said, his voice pained.

"And?"

"Please, don't do this. Don't take her away, _please_…"

"There's nothing I can do. There's no more milk. Either you keep her, and she dies, or you give her to me, and she lives. Your choice."

Will looked once more at the sleeping Olivia. Her tiny nose, her little shudder as she slept, that little tuft of blonde hair just like her mother's…

"All right."

"What was that? I didn't…"

"All right," Will said again, the defeat in his voice evident. "Please, don't hurt her…"

"She will be well cared for," came the reply. Above the two men, a large sturdy basket came down the hatch, anchored by eight thick ropes attached to some sort of secured movable pulley. "Put her in the basket."

"She'll fall…you'll drop her, and she'll fall…"

"You want her to live? Put her in the basket."

The thick wicker object landed softly at Will's feet. The sight of the hateful thing made him want to kick it clear across the dark hole he was imprisoned in. Holding back a sob, he gently placed his only child into the basket and held his breath as it slowly rose far from his or Oliver's reach. As soon as the basket cleared the ceiling, the foreign man lifted her out of the basket, mindful to not wake her. Then the hatch lid slammed closed.

Below, the only sounds were of Will's uncontrollable sobs, and the sound of Oliver's frustrated tears and pent up rage at what had just taken place.

"They'll kill us, now," Oliver said.

"I wish I was already," Will cried. In the dark space that surrounded them, Oliver tried to comfort his friend from his loss as best he could.


	39. Two Mothers

**Hello there. Been working on a new original, so hence the delay. Hope you enjoy!**

**A/N: "Bai Ling" does, in fact, mean "little lark" in Simplified Chinese (I think).**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

Yang Linshou had just finished shaking the dust out of the rest of the blankets when her husband arrived from the village. He had gone in search of more cartons to pack things in, and it had taken him quite a while.

"**Where did you go?"**

"**Down several streets. There were some just lying out on the street." **He had piled several dozen cartons inside of each other and placed them in his push-cart. Yang Chen reached down and caught the end of the blanket his wife was folding, before it fell into the dirt. **"Have you finished in the kitchen?"**

"**Yes. All the pots and pans are stored, as is the bed linens and most of the china. Did you find any paper to wrap the dishes in?"**

"**There was none. We'll have to sacrifice a blanket."**

Yang Linshou sighed, and walked back inside to get a pair of scissors. Yang Chen stood outside a moment, grateful at this moment that they had found this little house on the edge of the village. There weren't too many neighbors, and those they had were a good distance away. No one would notice that a runaway gardener and his wife were packing their house that quickly.

Just then a voice startled Yang Chen out of his reverie. It was a small cry—like the sound of a tiny lark.

"**Master Yang?" **a familiar voice asked, pretending that he'd never met the little gardener before.

"**Yes?"**

"**Tell me, is your wife at home?"**

"**Linshou!" **Yang Chen called out. **"We have a guest!"**

"**A guest?" **his wife called out from the tiny house. **"Who is it?"**

Yang Chen looked expectantly. **"A friend," **he finally settled on saying. The foreign man nodded his head in silent approval.

Soft shuffles gave way to a surprised gasp. **"Oh, aren't you **_**adorable**_**?" **he heard his wife cry as she fawned over the tiny infant.

"**Madame Yang, I understand you would like to raise a child," **the foreign man began. **"This little one was left on my doorstop some two days ago—must have thought I could provide for her. I made some inquiries, and most everyone said I should come to see you."**

"**There, there," **Yang Linshou cooed as she fussed over the baby, who had begun to cry. **"It's all right, it's all right…" **Turning her gaze onto the tall blonde man, she asked, **"She is yours?"**

"**She is not. But she was left for me, and I cannot care for her. I thought, perhaps…"**

The little seamstress's deep brown eyes shone with delight. A smile broke over her face as she quickly took the child from the foreign man and cradled the little girl in her arms. **"Look at you—so small," **she said, her voice all cute and songlike. Turning to the foreign man, she replied, **"Yes. I will take her. That is, if my husband will allow it…"**

Immediately Yang Chen said, **"Thank you, sir. How can we ever repay you?" **His fingers began tickling the infant, and her cries soon turned into happy shrieks. Both Yangs had smiles a mile wide on their faces.

"**There is no need. In fact, you have done me the service."**

"**What is her name?" **Yang Linshou asked.

"**I do not know. By my best guess, she is only about ten days old."**

Yang Linshou thanked the man once again, then cradled the infant as she walked back into the house, singing an old lullaby to settle the child. Her husband turned back to the foreign man. **"Where shall we go?" **he asked in a hushed whisper.

"**You will go to a place called Bainbridge Island, in Washington state. My employer's friend has an estate there, and your child can grow up safe and happy there. There is a house on the estate waiting for your arrival, and once again, congratulations."**

"**Thank you, sir," **Yang Chen said warmly. Then his mind took a small detour. **"What about the Americans?"**

"**They will not find you,"** the foreign man said. **"My employer will see to that." **He then turned his blonde head and walked away. Yang Chen continued to watch until the man walked up the road and out of sight.

_**A daughter,**_ he thought. _**My**__** daughter…**_

Yang Chen thn walked back into the house, where his wife was already rocking the child to sleep. He looked at the smile on Yang Linshou's face, and his heart was so glad he thought it would burst.

"**Have you thought of a name yet?"** he asked.

The woman looked down at the little girl, with bright eyes and a happy little smile. **"She looks like a little nightingale, or a lark," **Yang Linshou replied. **"Let's call her Bai Ling."**

"**Yang Bai Ling. I like it," **her husband replied. The two watched as the little girl fell fast asleep in her new mother's arms, and Yang Linshou laid her in the tiny white crib, careful not to leave the room as she slept.

* * *

At the estate, all nerves were on edge. No one ate. No one slept. It had been nearly two days since Garcia had gotten the ominious email from Will and Oliver's abductors.

"Something's happened," JJ said, barely holding it together. "They haven't called, they haven't said anything…"

"Could mean that nothing's happened," Emily tried to reason. "No news is good news, right?"

"Not this time," Chase said, having nearly frightened a pair of serving girls who had had the misfortune of startling her in the hall. "No news could mean that whoever's behind this probably…"

"Do _not_ finish that sentence," Rossi demanded. "That hasn't happened." Chase fell silent, but everyone knew what the ending of her sentence had been.

Just then there was a shriek from the drawing room. Six voices called out—"Garcia?!"

"Oh, my God, they didn't….!"

"Garcia, what's…" Morgan began, and then looked at her laptop screen. "My God," he said finally.

"What?" JJ cried.

Garcia slowly turned the laptop so that everyone could see it. It was a video clip that had been sent to her from Kyle.

_Garcia, _the email wrote. _Someone sent this to me. I'm tracking it now, and our friends are waiting to trace it as soon as I figure out its origin. We have Adlington in custody—Josh has personally seen to his interrogation, and so far we can prove that none of you are involved in any terror plot. He's finished. We just have to find the man behind the curtain—and fast. You'll understand when you see it._

In bold letters below the video clip box it read: **DO NOT SHOW THIS TO CHASE. SHE'LL LOSE IT. MISS JAREAU AS WELL.**

Chase looked at JJ. JJ looked at Chase. Both women said, in unison, "Play it."

"Guys, you really don't…"

"Now, Garcia," Chase said, her voice adamant. "I'll deal with him when I see him. Play it."

Hesitantly, Garcia pressed the 'play' button with her pointer. A clip appeared, showing Oliver and Will in the bottom of that god-forsaken hole, calling out for someone to hear them. The foreign voice then asked whether Will had made up his mind, and the team could hear the Cajun begging the man to let them go, or to at least let them feed Olivia. His pleas fell on deaf ears.

"No," JJ breathed. "He didn't…"

"_Either you keep her, and she dies, or you give her to me, and she lives. Your choice," _they then heard the foreign voice say.

"Son of a bitch," Morgan said quietly. Chase's face grew sober and unreadable. Emily held a hand to her mouth.

"_All right," _came the defeated reply.

"My God," Rossi said, trying to overcome his sympathy for the new father. Hotch watched the proceedings with his usual expression, except he too held a hand over his mouth as if in deep thought. The only sound that escaped that room was the sound of JJ's soft cries as she saw her daughter lifted out of a wicker basket and carried out of sight. Below the basket, the sounds of Will's sobs could be plainly heard.

As the clip faded to black, there was another voice. _"Time's up,"_ it said evilly.

Then the video stopped.


	40. Inquiries

**Enjoy!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

Kyle sat in the large computer room that had been previously occupied by Adlington's "tech squad." Banks of computer towers still sat patiently, waiting for the time when they would be of use again. The technical investigator was impatiently waiting for someone…

Suddenly the door opened at the other end of the room. The little man in the Coke-bottle glasses was gesturing wildly, and Kyle couldn't make out what he was saying. "Slow down," he asked. "I can't understand you…"

The animated man stopped quickly, his mouth hanging open in surprise. The look in his eyes revealed massive shock. "What the…" Kyle managed to make out.

"Sorry. I thought you knew."

"What?"

--"I thought you knew,"-- Kyle repeated, this time adding sign.

"You're deaf?"

The investigator could feel his eyes rolling. –"Come on. We've gotta trace that clip…"—

Suddenly the tech—Kevin, apparently—was all business. "Okay. Pull it up and…"

* * *

Downstairs, Josh paced. His eyes flashed every so often at the sight of the once-confident, even arrogant little man who had tried to take the bull by the horns and paid dearly. The agent could almost see the places where the proverbial 'gore marks' had been driven right through.

"Again," he snapped, turning suddenly and slamming his hands into the thin metal table. His prisoner jumped in his seat, straining at the restraints holding them.

"I've already told you," Adlington said sullenly. "You deaf?"

"No, but I can get a pairson 'oo ees," Josh snapped. "You weel tell me _again_ 'ow you were contacted, and 'ow eet was done…"

Adlington looked up to see the flicker of red light flashing in the right top corner of the room. Of course. Hollenbeck wanted this on tape. The former agent turned his head and remained silent.

"Tell me now, or I weel not hesitate to label you a 'terrorist.' You know what 'appens to those eendividuals." Josh took in the little man's wide eyed stare. "Pairhaps you would prefair…"

"I'll talk," Adlington cried, terrified of the prospect of being expedited to a country where 'interrogation methods' were a lot less 'civilized' than they were here. "It all started with a phone call…"

* * *

Kevin squinted as this strange man wrested a nearby computer keyboard away from its tower, connected it to the terminal being used, and began typing in a series of numbers as fast as his fingers would allow. He recognized the string—it linked to the email that had been sent to this Kyle Parker earlier—and then, in unison, the pair began tracing the string back to its point of origin. Along the way there were roadblocks, which they dealt with in two-by-two formation—one would continue the trace while the other removed the obstruction. There had been no need for talk, which suited Kevin fine. He didn't know any sign language anyway.

The information string led to a series of shell identities, one covering the next as if they were a set of those little Russian nesting dolls. Beside him, the deaf man sighed audibly. "This is gonna be awhile," the man said. Or, at least, Kevin _thought_ that's what he said.

* * *

"You 'ad no idea that the keednapping would take place?"

"I figured they might try something like that," Adlington admitted. "But I _never…_ I _never_ thought they'd take a baby… Even I have limits, sir."

"Leemits?" Josh tried hard to suppress the chortle. "You 'ad no trouble condemning those peeple to the 'orrors of preeson. They say there were 'attacks' made on the peeple on ten while they were there. This was _your_ doing?"

"Attacks? He said they'd only be shaken up a bit, put on edge…"

"Miss Jareau nearly lost 'er baby," Josh said simply. "'er colleagues wair told she 'ad…"

"They survived."

"Yes. Yes, they deed. Tell me, what would 'ave been next? Outright murdair? Or pairhaps more 'veesits' until they, eh, 'sacreficed?' themselves?"

"I don't know. I'm serious," Adlington said firmly, his eyes growing wide as Josh stood up from his chair. "This guy…it was him behind that, I swear. I was all for, you know, getting rid of them by locking them up—eventually they'd have figured out what I was up to—but _kill_ them? No. Not me."

"Oh, I know all about your thresholds," Josh crooned. "You like beeing the biggest bully een the room, but getting messy…not so much."

"Yeah," Adlington said. He hung his head.

"All those peeple," Josh marveled, looking at the long list of names that Kevin Lynch had been able to obtain for him. "All these peeple you destroyed and ruined to obtain a better position. For what? What was the goal?"

"Goal?"

"Why do thees?"

"Go to hell. You wouldn't understand."

"Pairhaps not." Josh thoughtfully stroked his neat goatee, a sign that he was just getting started. "Tell me, 'ow were you fairst contacted?"

* * *

The layers kept falling, one right after the other. Between Kyle and this friend of Garcia and Josh's, there had been over twenty 'shells' that had had to be decoded and cracked just to get a fraction closer to the clip's originator.

"Whoever sent this wasn't playing around," Kyle said. The man looked at him quizzically. Kyle sighed, and pulled out his notebook, writing down his previous thought.

_Yeah,_ the other man wrote back. _Makes me wonder what's at the end of this 'rabbit hole'…"_

* * *

"What 'ad been the plan, originally?"

"This guy, call him X, he wanted me to use my, ah, 'particular talent' for framing people on this group of profilers. I'd heard the names before, knew there was no way in hell they'd ever even _think_ about pulling something like a terrorist plot or attack. X promised not only a fat 'bonus' once I was done, but that he'd continue to help me advance in the Bureau."

"There are more, eh, 'moles' eenside?" The thought of Christian Hanover flashed momentarily before his eyes.

"I honestly don't know. My guess is, probably. Maybe he figured these profilers would pick up on it before too long."

Josh knew better. He'd managed to get word from Kyle Parker about the group's suspicions, and he had been slowly finding them to be correct.

"What about Miss Davis and Mr. Lawrence?" the agent asked. It felt odd to Josh to call his protégé by his civilian title and not just 'Oliver.'

"I don't know how those two fit in, but they were a part of the plan from the start. Lawrence I knew about because he worked for you until about a year ago; this Davis chick is _anyone's_ guess. I had _good_ people searching high and low for information on both of them, and aside from basic records and Lawrence's FBI file, there's not a scrap of information to be had."

"No eenformation?"

"People don't just disappear like that—not even in 'the program'. Whoever Chase Davis is, she's also a ghost. It's like someone—or some_thing_—is hiding her in plain sight."

Josh had had an inkling about the girl from the moment he heard about her, and a part of him was relieved. Though the woman kept things close, she simply knew way too much about certain methods to be merely an 'investigator'…

"About the eestate at the embassy…what 'ad been the plan?"

"I don't know much about that. That part was being run by some guy…I swear, I think he's German."

"Volkner."

"That's what he called himself. Arlen Volkner."

"And thees Volkner, 'e 'ad you doing….?"

"He wanted me to work the Chinese that leave the grounds every day. There's a gaggle of gardners that don't live on the premises—most of the grounds and servant staff live in this little village about five miles from the estate. I walked through the place—it's like a better version of Hooverville, if you catch me."

Josh made a note to have Kyle explain the term "Hooverville" to him later. "So you 'worked the crowd'…"

"Yeah. This guy wanted to find a couple of disgruntled people he thought might turn on the Ambassador and smuggle a couple of those profilers out. I thin the plan was to leverage a couple of them against the rest, and then get all of them in the process."

"And Miss Davis? Mr. Lawrence?"

"A bonus. We couldn't get them on anything, so we couldn't arrest them—though I swear they had something to do with the profilers' escape in Philadelphia."

Josh smiled inwardly. He knew better.

"Were you successful?"

"Very. There were three possibilities. This one, though, I was sure wouldn't go for the idea—I didn't approach them, Volkner must have—but he didn't want the usual compensation."

"What did thees man want?"

Adlington's cold eyes stared right into Josh's. "A baby."

* * *

The layers were coming off harder now. Kevin felt as if he was trying to solve the mystery on origins instead of cracking what should have been a simple trace.

The tech leaned back in his chair, rubbing the back of his head and taking a long pull on his oversized coffee cup. _Damn,_ he thought. _I'm gonna need another…_ Beside him, the deaf man—Kyle—flexed his fingers a bit, trying to work out the stiffness in them.

They were getting close. Both men could feel it.

* * *

"There ees nothing else?"

"I'm done. I've told you everything. Go call that Chinese lawyer or whoever's running your paperwork and leave me alone."

Josh stood up, stretching a bit after sitting in that confounded chair for hours. He strolled out the door, looking at the two guards keeping watch—his own people, people he'd known for years and trusted. After Adlington's revelation that the real mastermind behind this plot could have more moles like Hanover inside the building, he wasn't taking any chances.

"Take him," the agent said finally. "I want to see him at trial."

The guards nodded once. They understood.

* * *

Kyle was just about to give up when it broke. The screen fizzled for a second, then flashed a brilliant blue. Both he and Kevin stared as words formed in a string across the glass.

_Very good,_ the screen read. _You've gotten this far…now that deserves something._

Both computer analysts looked at each other, their eyes wide. What the hell was going on?

Suddenly a record flashed on the screen—a dossier file. Kyle read the name carefully. _Arlen Volkner._

Soon Kevin's head turned, and Kyle followed the man's gaze towards a nearby printer. He walked over to the machine and found page after page of information spewing forth from the inky opening.

"We've got him!" Kevin said, his face brightening.

Kyle, on the other hand, knew better. "We've got _someone_," he corrected, writing as well as speaking. "But I'm pretty sure that this guy is involved somehow…he's just expendable to our man behind the curtain now."

Kevin opened up a line to the embassy, and Kyle placed a text to a pair of Ukrainians that were anxiously awaiting his call.

They had a name and a face. It wasn't much, but it was a start.


	41. Mother Ling's Visit

**Short but sweet. Now we're getting somewhere...**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

There were two doctors in the village—Han Fouzhou, who took care of everyone in general, and Mother Ling, who specialized in infants and very young children. They were a married couple, and they both saw patients right in their home. The Yangs hurried quickly down through the center of town, hoping that the midwife was still awake at this late hour.

"**It's all right, it's all right," **Yang Linshou crooned, rocking the baby gently as the little girl fussed and cried and wriggled her hands in the air, pushing the extra blanket away from her hot skin. **"Mother Ling will make it better, you'll see…"**

"**We're almost there," **said her husband, who knocked loudly on the back door. **"Mother Ling? Mother Ling, please, wake up!"**

A few minutes passed before a light came on over the door, and Han Fouzhou answered the door. **"Yang Chen? Linshou? What are you…?"**

"**Please," **Yang Linshou began. **"The baby—she's sick…"**

The physician took the child from the frantic woman, noting that it looked nothing like her. He rushed into the office to get his kit, reaching for a little thermometer and a cold cloth.

"**What is this?" **a voice called out from the stairs. The aged face of Mother Ling made itself seen in the kitchen, her eyes narrowed with concern. From the office, she could hear her husband clucking gently as a small child cried.

"**She was so hot," **Yang Linshou replied, her face clearly showing her worry. **"Little Bai Ling, she was so hot…"**

"**Bai Ling?" **the midwife queried. **"Who is this?"**

"**Our daughter," **the younger woman said. **"No one wanted her, so we took her in. She's a precious thing, a little lark…"**

As the women talked, Yang Chen nervously hovered over the doctor's shoulder, pacing. He had sacrificed so much to give this child to Yang Linshou—he didn't want her to lose the child now…

"**She's feverish," **Han Fouzhou said. **"It's mild, though. Some cold compresses and some medicine should do the trick. You seem to have caught this in time."**

"**Thank you," **the relieved man said, the worry vanishing from his face.

Mother Ling stepped into the office, taking a look at the child. She was a little flushed, but already Han Fouzhou was administering a powerful herbal remedy she herself often used on some of the toddlers in the village. The baby had brilliant blue eyes, and a tuft of thin, sand colored hair draped over her forehead. _I've seen that somewhere before,_ the old woman thought.

"**This child, she was a throwaway?" **Han Fouzhou inquired kindly.

"**Yes," **Yang Linshou said excitedly, cutting her husband off in mid thought. **"A man from a nearby village, he said she was left on his doorstep. He could not care for her, and someone told him of our misfortune. It couldn't be more perfect, especially now…"**

"**Why now? Did something happen?"**

Yang Linshou's excitement was contagious, but Yang Chen continued to keep things close. **"I may have new work," **he confided. **"Someplace close to the sea, on an island. A rich man is looking for a good gardener, and someone told him about me."**

Mother Ling's eyes never left the child, now cradled in Yang Linshou's arms. The eyes…the hair…there was definitely something familiar about that child…

"**You like her, Mother Ling?" **The new mother's eyes looked up expectantly.

"**She's adorable. I think she'll be a fine addition to your family." **Privately, Mother Ling decided that she'd better have a chat with Song Fei up at the estate tomorrow. There were rumors that the American guests of the Ambassador had lost a child—one that she herself had helped deliver only a few days ago.

"**Well, I wish you luck in your new position," **Han Fouzhou sid, congratulating the Yangs on their good fortune. **"I would advise, though, that you take things easy for a couple of days and continue giving the child her medicine. When will you be leaving?"**

"**As soon as you give a clean bill of health, doctor," **the younger man replied. **"I would ask that she be checked out thoroughly before a long trip such as this…"**

"**Come back in three days," **the older gentleman said. **"I can fit you in early in the morning then. Will that do?"**

"**Yes," **Yang Chen agreed, privately worrying that someone would try to stop them before that time. However, the child's health came first. **"We will come back then."**

The doctor and the midwife bid their patients good night, then closed the door behind them. **"Is something the matter?" **Han Fouzhou asked his wife before climbing back into bed.

"**The child—she just seemed familiar to me, that's all," **his wife replied. **"I shall go to see Song Fei in the morning. There are rumors coming from the Ambassador's estate…"**

* * *

The Master's guests weren't eating. Song Fei had tried taking in the breakfast to the ladies's rooms, but the sparrow and her friends simply didn't have an appetite. Miss Charlotte spent much of her time pacing the kitchen halls, running into the serving girls and looking as thought she wanted to disappear.

"**Uncle, it's bad," **she confided to Han Wei later that afternoon. **"I think Miss Charlotte feels responsible for the little lark's disappearance."**

"**She is upset too because of Mr. Oliver," **the house steward confided. **"I worry more about the Americans, especially the statue man and the nightingale. Both of them seem ready to give up and submit to these monsters, but Miss Charlotte tells them to be patient. The tall angel too."**

"**Hello?" **a familiar voice called out. **"Song Fei? Is that you?"**

"**Good morning, Mother Ling," **Song Fei replied, greeting the older woman warmly. **"What brings you here?"**

"**I have heard rumors in the village—the American's baby, she is missing?"**

Both Song Fei and Han Wei slowly nodded their heads. **"The sparrow is absolutely beside herself," **the head servant replied. **"As is Miss Charlotte—the people who took the child also took the Frenchman and Mr. Oliver."**

"**Are they…"  
**

"**We do not know," **Han Wei replied.

"**There was a phone call—Miss Charlotte took that," **his niece corrected. **"A man told the Americans that they had to leave the grounds in order to get the child and the gentlemen back."**

"**And they did not?"**

"**If they would, they would be put in prison forever for a crime they did not commit."**

A small 'harrumph' escaped the midwife's lips. **"Evil men are behind this. Mark me on that."**

"**This news has reached the village?" **Han Wei asked, taking a seat at an old wooden table next to Song Fei.

"**Yes. Han Fouzhou only learned about it a day ago, while buying herbs for medicine. Such a shame. I would like to help, if I can."**

"**We thank you, Mother, but until the child is found there is nothing any of us can do. Miss Charlotte's friends are helping to clear the Americans of these charges against them, but even that is slow going. We all worry for Mr. Oliver and the Frenchman…" **Han Wei replied.

"**The strangest thing happened last night," **Mother Ling continued. **"You remember Yang Linshou…"**

"**Yes. She's a friend of mine," **Song Fei said. **"I was sorry to hear about her child…"**

"**Well, feel sorry no more. She and her husband were in last night, a baby in her arms, burning with fever."**

"**A baby? No, this cannot be. Yang Linshou's baby died, nearly five months ago. Crib death."**

"**As certain as I stand here, she had one. A little girl, maybe a week old. She said a man in the next village over had heard she'd lost her baby and gave her the child to raise—it had been left on his doorstep, and he could not care for the child."**

"**Really?" **Song Fei mused. **"Tell me, what did the child look like?"**

"**Oh, bright blue eyes—but those can be baby eyes, they're all blue at that age; a wisp of sand-colored hair, pale skin. It's an American baby, to be sure, but I know the next village over is all American people. Very few Chinese there."**

Song Fei stood up. **"Uncle, may I take leave? I think I must go and wish my friend good fortune on her new baby…"**

Han Wei knew what his only niece was up to. **"Yes, child. I think that is a very good idea…"**


	42. Little Lark Found

**The plot thickens...**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

The trip to the Yangs wasn't far—they lived on the farthest end of the village, but for Song Fei the trip seemed like it took forever. Her nerves were a jumbled mass of energy nervously twisting inside her stomach. The head servant knew how badly her friend wanted a child. Losing their son those short few months ago had been the last straw.

"**Hello?" **she called out, hoping to find someone home in the tiny clapboard house. The sound of water running through a faucet wafted towards her ears, and there was another sound—the sound of a baby happily cooing.

"**Song Fei?"** another voice said, bright and full of laughter. This was the voice Song Fei remembered her friend having, just before losing her last child. **"Oh, this is wonderful! I thought you were working…"**

"**Uncle let me have some time off. Things have been bad at the Master's lately." **She filled in Yang Linshou about what had happened—the missing Americans, the baby, the worried charges she'd just left.

"**Who would steal a baby?" **her friend asked, horrified. **"Despicable, that is."**

"**And yet, it has been done. The Americans are beside themselves."**

"**I should think. Has there been any luck in…"**

"**No. No, there has been nothing." **Song Fei hung her head a little. _If only I'd been there,_ she thought to herself. _Maybe I could have done something… _Then her eyes traveled over to the white bassinette that still stood in the corner, where Yang Linshou had put in nearly a year ago in preparation for her son. Song Fei's eyes stole a look inside, and the sight she saw was not to be believed.

"**What a beautiful little one!" **she exclaimed, hurrying over to have a better look. The baby seemed a little flush, but not too much. She was smiling, and waving her arms and legs happily at the sight of this new woman who tried to tickle her.

"**Yes," **her friend replied. **"Can you believe someone tried to just throw her away?"**

"**Throw her…like back in China?"**

"**Or something like. A man from one of the American villages brought her here. Said he'd heard that Chen and I would like a child to raise, after our little Hao Xing was gone."**

"**She's adorable. Blue eyes, light hair—simply gorgeous."**

"**Isn't she? Her name is Bai Ling."**

Song Fei thought about that name a minute. _Little Lark. Blonde hair, blue eyes…white…and there's just a little mark under her hair, a small brown spot that makes the 'lark's eye'…_

Her spirits soared, and then plummeted. _This_ was the American's baby!

"**A man brought her, you said?"**

"**Yes. Chen said it was a friend. He spoke Mandarin, not Cantonese."**

The head servant absently let the little girl play with her dangling fingers. **"Was she ill? Mother Ling came by to tell us of your good fortune—the whole estate is thrilled for you. Such good luck!"**

"**She was feverish, a little warm. We took her to see Mother Ling late last night, and Han Fouzhou fixed her up good as new. In two days we will leave this place, though—Chen has gotten an offer to work on an island, for a rich American man."**

_Two days,_ Song Fei thought. _Not much time…_

"**Would you like to hold her?"**

Song Fei looked at the tiny child. **"Of course!"**

Yang Linshou placed 'her' daughter into the arms of her best friend, and Song Fei marveled at how heavy she was. The younger woman rocked back and forth gently, humming an old tune from her hometown in rural China. The baby's eyes began to close, swaying to the sound of the music, and son Yang Linshou took the child back and placed her back in the bassinette.

"**Incredible. I wish you all the best, Linshou," **Song Fei said warmly. **"But I'm afraid I must head back—Uncle will be expecting me to help with dinner…though I think no one will eat it again…"**

"**Yes, that's terrible. If there's anything I can do…"**

"**Just keep your eyes open. Miss Charlotte has friends who are helping to search too, so I do not think it will be much longer."**

"**Thank heaven!"**

The women said their good-byes and parted. As soon as Song Fei crested the top of the hill and was out of sight, she bolted back to the estate at all full speed.

* * *

Han Wei tapped his foot impatiently. His niece knew better. Dinner had to be served, even if the American weren't going to eat. In any case, he didn't blame them. Between the fear, the worry, the anxiety, and the wonder at what happened to their friends, the house steward didn't think he'd eat much either.

Just then a racing blur of green silk came crashing into the kitchen, darting for Han Wei himself. "Uncle," the blur cried, speaking English. "I know where the sparrow's baby is!'

"Song Fei!" the man chided sharply. "Do not speak lies! It will not help matters any—you know this!"

"No, Uncle, no lies," his niece replied, breathless. "Someone _did_ take the baby, and passed it off as a throwaway. This man, he gave it to Yang Linshou and her husband Chen…"

"Chen? Chen…" Han Wei thought. "I know I've heard that name before…"

"Did he not work here once?"

"Perhaps. Quickly, go and fetch Wong Chinzu and bring him here." The young woman darted out of the room and made straight for the gardens.

* * *

Dinner was an extremely subdued affair. The team had decided they should at least try to show their appreciation to Ambassador and Madame Li and present themselves for dinner, but no one felt like eating anything. Mostly, everyone picked at their food—except for Reid, who, even after nearly two months of chopsticks still had horrible luck with them.

Chase herself stared at the glazed duck, one of her favorites, and lost her appetite completely when she thought of what Will and Oliver might be eating right now. _Probably nothing,_ she thought gloomily. _Bastards probably just left them to die, now that the baby's gone…_

Next to her, JJ stared into an empty plate. Someone had tried to fill it with at least a little of the rice and brown sauce, but this had been hastily shoved aside. The thought of Will, suffering in that miserable hole, making that horrible choice… A part of her wanted to rage and scream at him for even _thinking_ of doing what he'd done, but the more rational part of her argued that he had only been trying to save Olivia's life, even if he couldn't save his own. It was that knowledge that kept her insides fighting a great civil war within herself.

Emily picked through her greens, something she normally liked a lot. She had even gotten the recipe for these particular greens from the head chef, but she just could not stomach them that night. Her thoughts settled on that awful dungeon, where the voices of her friends floated to the top but nothing else. _Someone's gotta find where that place is,_ she kept thinking. _They'll die there otherwise…_

Across from her, Hotch was eating more slowly than normal. He was thinking about the missing Olivia. He could only imagine what JJ and Will were thinking now, even in their respective places. Though some had shown outrage at Will's decision, Hotch understood. He'd have done the same for Jack, without hesitation.

Next to him, Rossi stared into a water glass. He just couldn't get his head around this entire affair—the plot to frame them, the attack in Roanoke, the events in Philadelphia, the kidnapping on the estate… _Whoever's behind this has got one hell of a grudge against us, _he realized. _And they're doing this in such a way that making a profile becomes almost impossible…_

Garcia sat across from the Ambassador, stabbing a piece of duck with her chopstick. The normally cheerful tech found it hard to be happy now, even with the news that Josh Hollenbeck had taken Adlington into custody. It had been the only bright spot in what had been a miserable few days, and it was to no avail—though he was responsible for the frame up and some of the events in Philadelphia, the little weasel claimed he had no knowledge of the kidnapping other than the recruitment process.

"_Adlington, 'e says that the man wanted to recruit 'deesgruntled' workairs from the eembassy. One of them wanted a baby, though he does not remember weech one…"_

_Convenient, _the tech thought. _Get all 'selective memory' on us now, after we got your…ooh!_

Morgan sat next to his friend, whose dark look could have broken the plate in two. Between the video he'd seen of Will being forced to give up the baby and the knowledge that there was still someone out there waiting to destroy them, he didn't think things could get much worse.

The ten people finished their meal in relative silence. No one really wanted to talk much.

Just then there was the sound of footsteps clacking across the clay-tiled floor. Moments later, a breathless Song Fei appeared in the dining room doorway, her eyes sparkling.

"Miss Charlotte," she said, breathless.

Ten faces immediately sprang up. "What is it?" the investigator asked.

"I know--I know where the baby is!"

JJ immediately bolted from her seat and raced over to the tall woman, grasping her arms tightly. "Where? Where is she? Please, tell us!" JJ was so driven by fear and adrenaline she filed to notice that Song Fei looked almost terrified.

Hotch and Rossi hurried over and gently prized the frantic woman's hands off of the startled servant. "Where is she, Song Fei?" Hotch asked, using his no-nonsense voice.

"She is with my friend. Please, she doesn't know. She thinks the baby was a throwaway, like in China. Someone, a man, claimed to be from another village and brought the baby to her and her husband."

"Can she describe this man?" Rossi asked.

"I-I think so," Song Fei said nervously. "He claimed to be a friend of her husband's, but he spoke Mandarin, not Cantonese."

"There's a difference?" Garcia asked.

"Yeah, there is," Chase explained. "It's like speaking American English and British English—both are extremely similar but use different terms and phrases. Cantonese is based on the dialect used in the the old British-drawn province of Canton—it's called something else now, I forget what—but it's the language use in Hong Kong and quite a bit of Southern Mainland China. Mandarin is the more prominent of the two, and is used as the official language of China and its government."

"The fact that our unsub speaks Mandarin shows that he's got some knowledge on how things work there," said Emily.

"It's just luck that the Ambassador and Madame Li are from the South, and use Cantonese as their house language. Normally, people would speak Mandarin in a Chinese household," Chase seconded.

"He's gotta have some knowledge of the community, too. I mean, you'd have to look pretty hard to find someone who wanted a baby—even a 'throwaway'…by the way, where's that term come from, anyway?" Rossi asked.

"It's a common practice in China to desire a male child versus a female one, because of the passing of the family name," Reid replied. "Though it's illegal now, many couples in rural areas just drop girl babies on the side of the road or in a field to die, or dispatch them in, ah, other ways."

"The doctor is right," Ambassador Li confirmed. "It is an illegal practice in China today, but it still happens. Today families are allowed to apply to have a second child, to try for a girl if they already have a boy."

"Yeah," Reid said. "The female population of China is literally being wiped out."

"So someone just dropped the baby with a woman here, someone whom everyone knew wanted a child desperately," Morgan said. "That's planning."

"Well?" JJ cried. "What are we waiting for?" She began to take steps towards the main entrance, determined to get her child back.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Chase said, racing to stop her. "JJ, we still can't go out there. Not until the charges are dropped, and I promise you Mo's working on that as we speak. Your 'friends' at the Bureau are just waiting to pick you up the minute you head for the gates."

"I don't care!"

"I know you don't. If _I_ could slip out of here, I'd do it, and take you with me." Chase turned to Song Fei. "Where is this house?"

"About six miles. I can walk there easily."

"Okay." Chase then pulled out here phone. "Guys?" she said. "Listen carefully. I'm putting a woman on whom you're going to meet. She's gonna give you directions, and you get there as fast as you can." She handed Song Fei the phone, and said, "How long do we have?"

"Linshou said they were moving, and soon. Two, maybe three days perhaps."

"Okay. Tell these people where your friend's house is, and then get over there and make sure she doesn't go anywhere. Understand?"

Song Fei nodded. She took the phone from Chase and gave the directions.

"Good. Write those down for me, then go," Chase said. After the directions were given, Song Fei hurried off to make her visit. The investigator quickly punched a couple of buttons on her phone.

"Mo? It's Chase. How's the…you did?! That's great, really, you have _no _idea," she said. "Listen, I need you to get to this address—we think we've found the baby, and it might lead us to Will and Oliver too, but there's not much time..."


	43. A Family Lost, A Family Found

**Some sad stuff this chapter. Be warned.**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

Mo Li knew of the small village that had sprung up near the diplomatic estate—many of the household staff had sent for family members in China to follow them to the West to start a new life. In time, the village had grown to be fairly large, about five hundred inhabitants, and many of them worked on or around the estate itself. Towards the hilly part of the countryside lay several small clapboard houses that had been tossed together crudely to create more shelters for incoming immigrants, then abandoned as the area had begun to prosper. It was one of these clapboard houses that the lawyer was hurriedly driving towards.

_Please, let us get there in time,_ the young man thought. He knew that if they missed this one chance they might never find the child again—and that the whereabouts of Will LaMontaigne and Oliver Lawrence might never be discovered.

The house in question was the last one on the steep lane, just down a steep slope. Mo parked his Riviera about a quarter-mile past the driveway and walked into the front yard. Near a large willow tree stood the shapes of two people—European, from the looks of their faces.

"You are the lawyer, yes?" a short woman asked, her voice in a whisper.

"Yes. You must be Anya." Mo shook the woman's hand, and tipped his head at the slightly taller man next to her. "Mo Li."

"Petr Bossonova. The woman's inside, with her friend and the baby."

"The woman?"

"She say her name, ah, Song Fei?" Anya replied. "Nervous thing; was afraid she spook her friend and, eh, tip the scale…?"

Mo nodded. "Can we do this?"

Petr gave the house another look. "Scouted the place while we waited for you—there's two doors, a front and a back, and a couple of windows. We're thinking that you and Anya should come through the front door, and I'll cover the back as precaution."

Mo hesitated. He'd heard stories of women who had had their babies taken by the government in China—some, he'd heard, had even tried to kill the children in order to 'save' them from a worse fate.

"We've gotta watch this woman," he cautioned. "If she tries to hurt the baby…"

"Then we have no choice," Petr said, his face betraying no expression. His whispers reminded the lawyer very much of Chase herself, when things were particularly dire. Mo took a deep breath, then signaled to the two people in front of them to take position.

* * *

Inside the little house, Yang Linshou was playing with the baby, picking her up and 'tossing' her into the air as far as her arms would reach. The little girl giggled and laughed each time she was 'thrown,' waving her little fingers and kicking her feet.

"**She flies so high!"** Song Fei said. Absently, she looked towards the door. She had spoken with Miss Charlotte's friends, and they told her that the Master's son would come to help return the baby. The head servant looked on at the sight of her friend, so happy now that she had the child she'd always wanted.

Yang Linshou cooed as she 'tossed' the baby again, continuing their game. In the kitchen, Yang Chen stacked the last of the packing boxes onto the small table. Only the necessary things were still laid out in the house; those would be packed up just before they left for their new life far away. He listened to his wife's happy laughter and chatter with her friend, and the sounds of the baby playing. _These small sounds make everything worth it,_ he decided. _The Americans can have another baby…not like my Linshou…_

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Puzzled, the little man poked his head through the kitchen entrance, looking at the front door. **"Who is it?" **he called out.

Another knock, this one stronger than the first. **"Master Yang? My name is Li Mao Xiong. I believe you work for my father?"**

"**What is going on?" **Yang Linshou asked, her voice a whisper. She clutched the baby protectively in her arms and began to back towards Song Fei, inching behind the small rocker the younger woman sat in.

"**Master Yang, please, open the door."**

The Yangs looked at each other, then looked as Song Fei. **"I would answer it," **the young woman counseled. **"Perhaps they only wish to ask some questions…"**

"**Questions about what?"** Yang Linshou cried in a whisper. **"What could we know? There is no news…"**

"**Master Yang, please open the door. We only have some questions, nothing more."**

Nervously, the little man opened the door to find the Master's son and a young woman standing on the doorstep. **"May I help you, sir?" **he asked, trying to keep calm.

"**May we come in?"**

"**Y-Yes, of course," **Yang Chen replied, ushering them in. **"How can I help you?"**

"**I've been asked to inquire as to your whereabouts, Master Yang," **Mo began. **"Wong Chinzu says you have failed to come to work for the last few days. Have you been ill?"**

The question struck Yang Linshou as odd. **"Sir, my husband has been at work. He does not lie to me, I would know if he did…"**

"**Madame, our head gardener has been missing three of his staff for the last several days, and your husband was one of them. We have had no complaint of Master Yang's work, nor of his character, so when he did not come to work we were most worried. I am glad to see he is well, but must wonder why he did not come to work…"**

"**I-I have been meaning to tell Master Wong that I will be leaving," **the little gardener replied. **"I have taken a new position."**

"**Ah. Well, my congratulations. You will want your last pay sum, I expect?"**

"**Yes, if I may. We hope to leave soon."**

"**That can be arranged. You will have to come up to the estate to receive it."**

Yang Chen's face nearly blanched at that. However, they desperately needed the extra money…

"**Of course, sir. Will the morning be sufficient?"**

"**If you like, we can settle the matter now," **Mo replied, ever the lawyer. **"My associate can take you up to see my father, and he will see you are fairly compensated."**

The little gardener's face was now stone-white. It looked to Mo like he might even faint.

"**Sir? Are you well?"**

"**I, ah, I—yes, I can do that," **Yang Chen said finally. **"Let me collect my things…"**

As the little man moved towards the kitchen wall where his coat was kept, Anya had followed close behind. She was shadowing the gardener to make certain he wouldn't try to make a run for it.

"**That is a beautiful child, Madame. Is she yours?"**

"**She is, sir. A throwaway child, now mine." **Yang Linshou clutched the baby even tighter, and the child squirmed in her grasp.

"**She is certainly lucky. May I see her?"**

The little woman took a step backwards. She had no intention of letting her baby go.

"**You have heard, I presume, that a baby has gone missing from the estate? The child of one of the Americans?"**

"**I have, sir. I am sorry. If I can help…"**

"**A little girl, she is. Light hair, blue eyes…she was stolen from her mother by three men, along with the child's father, a Frenchman. He and another man were taken, and the child was forced with them down into a deep, dark hole for several days with no light, and we think, no food."**

"**My God," **Yang Linshou said, horrified. **"Are they all right?"**

"**We do not know. The American woman, she is frantic. As for the Frenchman, the people keeping him sent a video of their ordeal in the hole. In the end, he was forced to give the child to his captors and was taken away."**

The little woman clutched the baby tighter, causing the child to cry.

"**She is only ten days old, the missing child," **Mo continued. **"A pretty little thing, a lark, they call her…a 'bai ling', they say."**

Yang Linshou finally looked at the child in her arms. She tried to soothe her, to make the cries cease, but it was getting harder to rock the baby without bursting into tears. She looked towards the kitchen to find Yang Chen standing with his hands behind his back, and another gentleman standing watch over the little gardener.

"**What did you do?" **Yang Linshou demanded. **"Tell me, Chen, **_**what did you do?!**_**"**

Yang Chen hung his head in shame. **"I wanted to see you smile," **he said simply. **"I wanted us to have a child, so we could be happy…The Americans, they have done terrible things, things that make them not deserve the child…"**

"**Master Yang, those rumors are false. A man within the American government spread lies about the Americans now in my father's house, and we have proof. The man confessed, and there are others involved, especially concerning the kidnapping of the men from the estate. I believe you know which men I speak of."**

"**No,"** the little woman said, her voice breaking into sobs. **"You didn't…you **_**couldn't…**_**"**

Yang Chen's head hung further. Yang Linshou burst into tears.

"**No," **she cried. **"No, please…don't take her away. I can be a good mother to her—a better one. The Americans, they can have **_**more **_**children…"**

"**I'm sorry, Madame. I must take her." **Mo's voice was gentle but firm.

"**No…please…" **The woman held on to the baby as if the child were the last thing on earth. Song Fei inched closer to her friend, and, though her eyes showed compassion for her friend, carefully prized the infant from Yang Linshou's arms. It was hard for the house servant to not break down into tears herself at her friend's loss. A pair of hands took the baby from Song Fei, and the child rested comfortably in the arms of the European woman from outside.

"**Come," **Mo said, and the party left. In her little clapboard house, Yang Linshou's heart broke at the loss of her family and the betrayal of her husband, and her friend tried to comfort her as best she could. Song Fei stayed throughout the night, largely because she feared what her friend might do to herself if she left her alone, even for a moment.

* * *

The last three hours had been extremely tense. JJ paced back and forth, afraid to leave the front hall for fear that she would miss something. The rest of the team took seats along the wall of the front entrance, realizing there was nothing to do but wait.

Near the stairs, Chase let out an audible sigh. "I hate waiting," she replied as several faces looked at her. "Makes me feel useless."

"I think 'useless' about sums it up," said Morgan, keeping one eye on the pacing agent in front of him.

Just then the sound of gravel crunching between something heavy sailed through their ears. JJ raced outside to find Anya holding something small and wriggling in her arms.

"Olivia!" she cried, scooping the infant out of the Ukrainian woman's grasp and clutching her tightly. She, along with Garcia and Emily, hurried back inside to see that the little girl was alright.

"How'd it go?" asked Rossi, noticing that the little party was a member short.

"Not well. The woman, she had no idea—and I think once she heard about the baby being missing, she simply refused to believe that the child she'd been given might be someone else's," replied Mo. "We couldn't try her, in any case. I honestly don't think she knew. If you could have seen the look on her face…"

"You'd be surprised," said Morgan.

"Not this time, Agent Morgan," the lawyer said simply. "I too have seen my share of liars. This was not one of them."

"What now?" asked Reid. "I mean, we're still no closer to finding Will or Oliver…"

"Meet Yang Chen," Petr said, revealing himself and his prisoner. "He was one of the missing gardeners you've been looking for, and I think he might be able to help."

The men, along with Chase and Anya, walked inside, taking Yang Chen into the drawing room.

"No shoot," the little man said, his voice quivering. "Please, no shoot."

"**You speak Cantonese?" **Chase asked.

The gardener nodded.

"**My name is Charlotte. Perhaps you've heard of me?"**

Another nod. **"They say you have killed many, but that you are a good woman."**

"**They're half right. You will tell us where to find the men you took, or the consequences will be dire."**

"**I cannot tell you."**

"**Do you see these men?" **Chase asked, gesturing behind her at the rest of the team, who wore somber looks on their faces. **"They are the uncles of the baby you stole. They will see to it you are tried in China for this crime. Is this what you wish?"**

Yang Chen's eyes grew wide with fear. **"They will kill me…"**

"**Yes. Unless you help us, they will. Will you help us?"**

Defeated, Yang Chen nodded his head. **"Forgive me," **he said. **"Please, tell them that I seek their forgiveness…"**

"What's he saying?" Hotch asked.

"He wants you to forgive him," Chase replied. "He'll help us find Will and Oliver. After that, we've got options, I think—depends on several things."

"Like whether Will and Oliver are still alive," Morgan said.

"Or their conditions," Hotch added. He threw a stern glance at the cowering prisoner, who looked at Hotch as if he were planning to kill him.

"Seriously, what did you say to that guy?" Morgan asked.

Chase shrugged. "I told him that you all were uncles to the baby, which is true—sort of…"

"And?"

"And that you would have him tried in China for stealing the baby."

"We can do that?" Reid asked, surprised.

"Yes, Dr. Reid," Mo replied. "Kidnapping is a serious offense, even in China. And unlike the American system, the status of a person often has a lot to do with how a guilty party is sentenced. Were Mr. Yang a rich man, he might not see a lot of jail time. But because he is poor and unconnected…"

"They'll throw the book at him," Rossi finished.

"And under Chinese law, it means that they might sentence him to death. The decision is entirely up to you. I suggest you seriously think about it once the others have been retrieved."

"When do we go?" Chase asked.

"Right now, if you wish. I have the papers in the car, declaring all of you clear of all the charges against you. As of this moment, you're free."

"More than we can say for us all," Morgan said, heading for the door. He was tired of waiting, and was ready to go and do something to help save his friends—something he hadn't been able to do for himself. The rest of the group followed in quick succession, with Yang Chen being guarded by both Hotch and Chase.

"**Come on," **she said to the gardener as he was led out of the room. **"A lot depends on what you do next."**


	44. Reemergence

**Thanks for the reviews!**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

The ancient barn lay in the distance, looking neglected but sturdy in its construction. Six figures stood behind the old work van, and one of them was rapidly interrogating a little man held in chains.

"**How many are watching over the Americans?" **Chase asked, her voice full of ice.

"**Only two. A young man, Han Lin, and Soo Li. He has a gun."**

Nodding her head, Chase sealed the back of the van up securely, preventing the little gardener from making an escape. Her head looked up at the sight of the faint light glowing in the small house nearby. "What's with that?" she whispered.

"There's two guys inside, both Chinese," Morgan said, having just come back with Petr from scouting the place.

"Armed? Our boy says they might be…"

"If they are, one of them is sitting on the weapon," Petr replied. "The house is all of five rooms, and only two of them are being used—the kitchen and the living room."

"There's also two bedrooms, but no one's in 'em," Morgan seconded. "Same with the bathroom, at least from the window view anyway."

"Okay. What about the barn?"

"No one's in there, at least not that we can see," Reid replied. "I did hear something coming up from the floorboards…"

"Probably Will and Oliver," Chase mused. Then she looked at Hotch. "Your call—how do you want to do this?"

Hotch thought a moment. "There's only two people inside? How do we know?"

"I'm telling you , Hotch, that's all that was in there."

"What about this Volkner?" Rossi asked.

"The two men in there are Chinese. Unmistakable," Petr said simply. "And not keeping a decent guard, from the looks of things…"

"That'll work," said Hotch. "Morgan, Petr, you're with me. We'll take the house and whoever's inside. The rest of you get in there and bring up Will and Oliver, and call an ambulance. We've got no idea what their condition's gonna be like…"

Chase immediately got on the phone. The respective parties broke off towards their intended targets.

In the barn, the sounds of footsteps echoed heavily into Rossi's ears. There was no light in the large space, and the crushing weight of blackness threatened to overtake even the faintest hint of light. Just ahead of him, Reid brandished a small lantern that had been procured from the gardening staff at the estate.

"You sure you can handle that thing?" Chase asked. "I mean, you're somewhat…"

"Accident-prone?"

"Well, won't do to set the place on fire, now would it?"

Reid forced a short burst of air through his nostrils. He held the object in his hands, dangling from his steadying hand as he kept his sidearm trained on what might be in front of them. Soon the faint wisps of light danced over the large top that covered the hatch, as well as a couple rungs attached to a very long ladder. Rossi and Chase let their guard down just enough to grab the large wooden device and pull off the cover.

"Oliver?" Chase called down softly, hoping to be heard by her partner but not by someone who might be lurking in the shadows. "Oliver? Are you there?"

"Chase? Chasie, is that you?" a voice called back, weak but filled with joy. "Will, wake up…"

"Hang on, we're coming down," said Chase. She turned to Reid and said, "If you even think it's moving, shoot it."

"Chase…"

"I'm serious. I'm not taking any more chances. We can sort out the details later." To Rossi she said, "Come on. We might have to carry them up—doesn't sound like they're in good shape…"

Just then shots rang out. The raid on the farmhouse was getting louder, and shouts could barely be made out by the little party's ears.

_Here goes nothing,_ Chase said, heaving a breath. She crept down the giant ladder and firmly placed one foot on the ground. The temperature was significantly colder than it was up top—a difference of about ten or twelve degrees. A slight chatter raced through Chase's teeth.

"Ollie? Oliver, I can't see you," Chase called. "Where are you?"

"Over here," a familiar voice replied. "Chasie, I can't wake him…"

"Rossi! Come quick!" the investigator called out. "How long has he been like this?"

"Since they took the baby. He hasn't slept, he hasn't spoken…"

"Catatonic state," Rossi said, taking in the Cajun's condition. "He's trying to insulate himself from the loss." Gently, he shook the still man, trying to revive him. "Will? Will, it's Dave. You're getting out of here. We have the baby—she's with JJ, at the estate. Olivia's all right."

"I gave her away," the man whispered, so faintly that only Oliver could hear him. The report of more gunfire above them startled the party a second.

"Reid, what the hell's going on up there?" Chase called out, now expanding her voice. A shadow-lurker would have made himself known by now…

"I don't know..." Reid called back. Soon the gunfire ceased, and silence reigned over the dark space.

"Will, it's Oliver," the younger man replied. "Come on, we've gotta get you up and out of here, but you've got to help us." Oliver reached down and gently pulled his companion up by the arm, and Will rose, though was still trapped in his own mind.

"I gave her away. My own child, and I let them take her…"

"Will, we've got her. She's safe. She's in good health, and JJ's sworn never to let her out of her sight again."

"But…I let them take her…"

"You did what you had to, Will. You wanted to save her," Rossi replied gently. "No one blames you for that. Not us, not JJ, not anybody. You were doing what you had to do to save Olivia's life."

"I-I'm so sorry…" the Cajun cried as he took cautious steps forward.

"It's all right," Chase said soothingly. She gently followed the man up the long ladder, which Will grasped as though it would be snatched away from him. Some twenty-five steps later, and both Will and Oliver took their first breath of free air in nearly a week.

"How did you…" Oliver asked.

"Actually, it was the baby," Reid said. "One of the servants discovered that a friend had a new baby, one she'd been 'given' by a man she didn't know. Turned out that the baby was Olivia, and the woman's husband was one of the men who kidnapped you."

"But—why'd he want the baby?" Will said, remembering the strange little man.

"He and his wife had lost their own child about five months ago, and two more before that one. She was desperate to have a child, and he thought that helping the 'man behind the curtain' take Olivia would solve a lot of problems," Chase replied. Just then there were sounds of the doors on the old work van being opened and shut, and sharp voices making plain their desire for immediate cooperation and silence.

"What the hell happened?" Chase called out, leading Will. The Cajun was leaning heavily against her shoulder, the effects of starvation and despair having settled heavily on the man.

"One of 'em in there decided to try shooting practice on us," Morgan replied.

"He failed, obviously?"

"Damn right."

"You've got both of 'em?"

"Both?" Oliver asked. "There were three, plus that foreign bastard…"

"Foreign?" Morgan's eyes curled in confusion.

"Yeah, his voice was muddled, like Josh's, but I'd swear it's a German base. He's the guy who made Will give up Olivia; _that_ bastard—where's he?"

"He's not here," Hotch said. "Wasn't in the house."

"Wasn't in the barn, either," Reid added. "There's those woods…"

"Song Fei said that the man who gave her friend the baby spoke Mandarin," Chase said.

"So?" The men looked at her like there was a point to this.

"So, I'm willing to bet that those three in there speak Cantonese. I think our German friend is the one who gave the woman the baby. My guess? He's in the wind about now…"

"I'll never forget the face, Chasie," Oliver swore. "I'll get a sketch made up and scanned…I want this asshole, if it's the last thing I do…"

"Right now you're going to the hospital," Chase said, leading Will over towards the waiting ambulance, which was sitting patiently near the work van. "Can't have you getting sicker, Ollie."

"What about them?"

"Them?" Petr asked, jabbing a thumb at the prisoners inside. "They get to sit in front of a panel, and hope that you all are fairly merciful."

"Us?"

"Yes. Mo Li explained it," Hotch said. "We can decide to have them tried in China or here in the States, because the bulk of their crimes took place on Chinese soil. It's up to us, or rather, me…"

"You? Why you?" Morgan asked, surprised.

"Has to do with being 'head of household,' or something like that," Hotch explained. "It's a cultural thing. Chase too, as they see her as head of her team."

"Oh, great. Chinese law," Chase said. "There's a reason I let Mo handle these things…"

"Still, we'll need to figure out what we want to do as a whole. This isn't a decision to be taken lightly."

"I second that," said the investigator, keeping one eyes firmly locked on the sight of Oliver being tended to and wrapped in a blanket. The sight of him shirtless had sent a little thrill down her spine, and she scolded herself sharply for thinking like that at a time like this. Still…


	45. Oliver's Statement

**Okay, so this chap's a two parter--here's Oliver's statement first.**

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

Oliver woke up in the white room, wondering if _this_ was what heaven was like. He felt warm, and rested, and his hair wasn't sticking to the top of his head as it had been for days. Across his shoulders scratched some sort of itchy cloth, and his feet didn't feel like giant blocks of frozen ice.

"Hey there," a voice said. It sounded vaguely familiar…

"Sarah?" he mumbled, trying to shove his eyes open. It made sense. If this was heaven, then Sarah would surely be here.

"Sorry, hon. Wish I could get her, though. She'd be proud."

_Not Sarah? No, that can't be right…_

"Sarah--she's n-not here?"

"Nope. 'Fraid not." The voice—the _not-Sarah_ voice—was kind, and gentle, and not mean-spirited. "Guess you'll have to settle for me."

Oliver's eyes fluttered open wider, and he saw a familiar face looking at him—it had dark hair, and bright green eyes, and a hint of an impish grin twitching on those lips.

"Chasie?"

"Yep. Mean ol' boss lady," Chase said. "Welcome back. Didn't think you'd be up this soon, really, way you were shivering like that when we found you…"

"Shivering?"

"Yeah. What did they, put you out? I mean, Will I kind of understand, but you…"

"You got Will? He's okay?" Oliver shot up like a bolt.

"He'll need an elephant's share of therapy, but once he realizes he actually did save Olivia from freezing or starving to death down there he should make some progress." Chase's face grew somber. "He really did the right thing, even if he doesn't think so."

"Chase, you weren't there. We-we tried _everything_. Will rigged up this thing to feed her, a-and we tried to keep her clean, and…"

"Ollie, you were thrown down in a hole. A freezing, filthy, concrete hole with no light and no food and, for reasons unbeknownst to me, no shirt."

Oliver blushed a little. "You saw that?"

"Uh-huh." She settled into the little plastic chair, the sound of belt buckle metal scraping against industrial strength plastic. "It's okay…you don't have to explain…"

"We needed something to change the baby."

"And you volunteered your shirt?"

"Wasn't anything else." Oliver pulled the white hospital comforter up to his chin. Though he didn't mind being shirtless, he did seem to mind the thought of being so around this woman, for reasons he couldn't quite place.

"Oliver." Chase's tone was now strictly no-nonsense. "There's some things I have to ask you…"

"About what?"

"About what happened."

"Oh." Pushing the button on the little remote, Oliver raised the bed so he could sit up without too much trouble. Though there were no broken bones and he was just a little fatigued from the exposure, his doctor seemed to insist that he 'take it easy.' God only knew why.

"I'm going to be honest with you—there's some decisions that have to be made, and much of it will depend on what you and Will have to say."

"Why us?"

"Because you were the victims in this crime. Legally, it normally doesn't matter much, but this time it could depend on whether or not those gardeners are tried here in the States or in China."

Oliver's brows furrowed. "China?"

"Technically, the kidnapping occurred on Chinese soil. Chinese law applies there. However, because both you and Will—and Olivia—are American citizens and you were held on American soil, you can choose to have them tried here."

"What's the difference?"

"Tell me what happened." Chase's face grew serious—that cold, scary look that said _I mean business._

Long fingers fumbled with the edges of the white blanket overtop the patient. "Will was taking his walk," Oliver began. "That night he went into that patch of trees—those dark ones, over in the corner…"

Chase nodded. "Go on."

"We walked along for a while after I met up with him, then we started hearing noises. I didn't like it, so we headed back. When we figured out the sounds were following us, we ran."

"Okay."

"That's when someone hit me in the head. Next thing I remember is waking up in that hole."

"What happened then?"

"Will was screaming, holding Olivia. That's when I figured out about the hatch opening, the hole, and how we got down there."

"How did you? Get down, I mean?"

"Someone carried me down that damned ladder," Oliver spat.

"Okay, okay," Chase said. "Then what?"

"Got oriented with the hole. I'm sure you've been down there to take stock."

"I'm gonna do that later. Right now I wanna hear it from you."

"We were stuck. Someone sent down some things…"

"Like what?"

"A tray. A bowl. Milk in a plastic bottle. Clean cloths. Will used one to feed the baby and we used the other to clean her."

"Sounds like someone was planning."

"Will said that one of the men wanted him to give the baby over to him, and he refused. Might have been him that sent down the stuff, I don't know. It's words to you, Chasie, but that language they speak's all gibberish to me."

"Well, it's no worse than that French you speak sometimes."

"Touché," Oliver said, pointing a "L" hand towards her. "Anyway, we ate the bread in the bowl—there were four pieces, two apiece—and we tried to keep the baby warm and fed and clean. It got so bad we had to beg just to get the smallest thing to keep her from getting sick…"

Chase's face bore no expression. "Sick?"

"Don't know a lot about babies, huh?"

"Can't say as I do."

"Their immune systems are really fragile. They catch cold, takes them a month to kick it, that kind of thing. Add freezing temperatures, limited food, limited blankets, and no soap to that equation, and the outlook isn't good."

"Okay."

"Then that bastard appeared—the German. He told Will and me that if we wanted to 'save' Olivia, we'd have to give her up to him. Will was completely against that notion. _Completely._

"At first?"

"Yeah. I couldn't blame him. Even if he did give her up, there was no guarantee that she'd be safe, or cared for. It's a miracle that she was…"

"The man who tried to take her initially was a Chinese gardener named Yang Chen. He and his wife had lost three children in six years, and he was promised Olivia in return for his help in taking you and Will."

"But why…?"

"Oliver, I don't know. People do strange things when they're desperate. Believe me, I know that desperation."

"Me too. Still, taking a child?"

"He says he wanted to make his wife smile again. Truth be told, I believe him."

Oliver goggled at his boss. "You _do?_"

"Like I said, desperate. I'd be willing to bet those 'things' you got down there were his doing. It might be he helped save your lives, though he didn't know it."

"He gets off for _trying_ to help?"

"Not at all, Oliver, not at all," Chase said, holding her hands up in surrender. "He'll be tried. I just don't think he should go to China for the crime."

"I don't…"

"In China, they'll kill him. Him and his accomplices."

"Maybe they should."

"I dunno. You'll have a chance to talk to him yourself, if you want."

Oliver fell silent. This was a lot to take all at once. "The other two?"

"Again, you can speak with them. Reigning opinion is that the other two get deported for their trouble. I doubt they'd have ever let you out of that hole…"

"Probably not. Chase, you know this has everything to do with the Silver Spring case—with Sarah, with me, with you, with the BAU…"

"Yeah. We're still trying to figure out how, though." Chase's face tightened in determination. "Adlington's a dead end on that part. He copped to the frame-up and the aiding and abetting for the prison attacks. Josh is thoroughly enjoying his work right about now, I'd imagine."

"I hope so. Bastard. When I find this German, I want ten minutes with him." Oliver's face was dead serious.

"In time. We'll find him." _Even if it takes the rest of my life_, Chase added silently. She watched as Oliver laid down and fell back into a deep sleep. _It all depends on Will now…Oliver's done his part._


	46. Will's Version

In an adjacent room, Will was staring at the sight of both JJ and Olivia, who were sitting next to a very somber-looking Hotch.

"She's all right," the Cajun said, looking on at his little girl. Olivia smiled and waved her hands a bit, looking happy to see her daddy.

"Yeah," JJ replied, holding the baby tight.

"I gave her away." Will's face fell.

"I know. And she's alive because you did. She's how we found you, Will." JJ's face now became somber too.

"I shouldn't have done it. I should've kept her…"

"Will." Now Hotch broke in, snapping the man's further mental descent. "We need to know what happened to you in that hole."

Will looked downcast. "Ask Oliver," he replied. "He knows."

"Not all of it," JJ's superior remarked.

Will's eyes searched the bare private room. There was nothing on the walls, nothing on the bed except his hands, and the window only gave a lovely view of a brick wall. He couldn't bear right now to look at his daughter, knowing that he could've sent her to her death had things gone differently.

"I-I took her for a walk. Like always."

Both Hotch and JJ nodded.

"We went into that little patch of woods, the one in the corner. After awhile, Oliver showed up, said you all were still working on everything and he needed a break."

More nods.

"Oliver and I walked with Olivia for a while, at least until we heard the footsteps."

"Footsteps?" Hotch asked.

"Yeah. We'd walk, then the steps would try to follow us, and when we'd stop we'd hear them. Oliver and I both decided to try and make a run for the house…"

"And you didn't make it," JJ said.

"No. Someone hit Oliver with something—I think it might have been a tree branch, I'm not sure—and he went down for the count. The next thing I knew there were two people standing in front of us, one armed, one dragging Oliver into a truck."

"Armed?"

"Yes, sir. Something small, from the looks of it--I'm not real sure--but it was enough to put holes in people, and I had the baby with me. I-I begged them not to take us, but I don't think they spoke English."

"What then?" Hotch asked.

"I was afraid that the gunman would shoot us on the spot, so when he yelled "In!" a second time, I…got in the truck. It was stupid of me, but they already had Oliver in there, I couldn't leave him…"

JJ shifted her weight a little as she tried to calm the squirming Olivia. Finally she asked, "Would you mind holding her, Will? Just for a bit?"

"I-I don't know…"

"It's okay. She's trying to come to you anyway." Without letting the man get in another word in edgewise, JJ lifted the little girl and carefully placed her in Will's arms. Will's face fell a minute, then brightened gradually as Olivia snuggled into his lap.

"What happened after they took you out of the garden?" Hotch inquired.

"We were in the truck, all of us, and the man with the gun sat with us by the door. The truck turned and twisted so much I couldn't have said whether we were a hundred miles from the house or one."

"And when you got there?"

"They backed the truck up to the barn entrance, I couldn't see anything outside," Will replied. "Two of the men—the one who hit Oliver and the driver, I think—they dragged him down that ladder into that hole. Once they did, they untied my feet and told me to get out."

"They bound you?"

"Just my feet. I had this little one here in my hands. I think maybe they figure I wouldn't drop her to fight them, so…"

A slight nod from JJ's still-somber superior told him the man understood. "Then what?"

"They told me to go down in that hole. I tried resisting, but with the baby, there was only so much I could do. I tried pleading with them, at least to spare the baby, but the little man with the gun, he was insistent." Will's gaze focused on Olivia a moment, now fast asleep on his lap. "One of them, he came up to me. I think he wanted me to give him the baby—fact, I'm sure of it."

Hotch nodded. "What happened in the hole?"

"The place was a dungeon. I tried screaming for help, but none came. Finally Oliver woke up and he took stock of the place—wasn't much, if you've seen…"

"Not yet. But we will."

"Small area, no windows, no light, no heat—we nearly froze down there. Oliver gave up his shirt so we could try and keep the baby clean, and aside from a tray someone sent down at first we had to beg for everything we needed just to make sure Olivia here didn't get sick or starve."

"What about water?" JJ asked.

"Oh, plenty of that," Will replied. "There was, maybe what I'd call a trough, 'bout to your shoulders. Full to the brim with water. It was the only thing we _did_ have down there."

"How'd you feed her?" the blonde woman asked.

"Olivia? Oh. Soaked a cloth they sent initially in milk, let her suck on that. It worked—as long as we had milk."

"Which they weren't giving you," Hotch added.

"No, sir. If I had to guess, that man who wanted me to give him the baby, he put that milk down there for her. Then that bastard came, and things got worse."

"Which…?"

"German guy, maybe. Definitely an accent, thick one too. Told me that they couldn't keep sending milk, so I'd have to give Olivia up…" Will's voice trailed slightly as he thought of that horrible decision.

"But you didn't."

"No. Not at first. We managed to get another bottle of milk, and we tried to make it last, but she eats so much…"

"She's a baby. She'll eat more than that later on," JJ confirmed. "Trust me."

"Then she started getting warm—like fever-warm. We'd tried to keep her clean, but there wasn't any soap, and her 'diapers' were our old rags…"

"That's when you decided to…"

"No. We tried to break the fever with water—it was cold, so we thought it might shock the temperature down a notch." Will's face fell. "It didn't work. I…I didn't want her to die…JJ, you have to believe me, I didn't want her to die…"

"Hey," the blonde said, her voice reassuring. "It wasn't your fault. You didn't make her sick, and she's all right now…"

"But what if you hadn't found her?! We might never have gotten her back! Because of me!"

"Will," Hotch snapped, in that no-nonsense tone. "JJ's right. No one blames you for making that choice. If it had been my son, I'd have done the same thing."

"Y-you would?" Will asked, astonished.

Hotch nodded once. "Yes."

The Cajun heaved several deep breaths and then tried to continue. "After he took her, I don't remember much. Just sitting in hay, mostly. I-I'm sorry…"

"It's all right." Hotch stood up and headed out, leaving the little family alone to recover. In the hallway, sitting on a long padded bench, was Chase, looking as deep in thought as ever. "How'd it go?"

"All right, considering. Oliver's asleep."

Hotch sat down next to her. "What'd he say?"

"They snatched 'em, bonked him in the head, tossed 'em down in the hole. They tried to keep the baby as long as they could. If it hadn't been for that one man, Yang Chen, I really think we might have lost them all."

Hotch sat silently for a long moment. "I do too."

"Yeah," Chase replied softly. "The question is, now what?"

"Let's see what the gardeners have to say for themselves," Hotch suggested. "The team is back at the estate doing that now. We don't have to decide this minute."

Chase eyed the lead agent carefully. "But you want to."

"Yeah. I do. I kind of envy Josh, dealing with Adlington…"

"Oh, I imagine he enjoyed that thoroughly. We'll get our turn." Chase looked at Hotch, her eyes betraying nothing. "How is he?"

"Still blames himself for giving up the baby. It'll take time."

"Time we got. I just hope he learns what I've never been able to."

Now it was Hotch's turn to look at the young woman strangely. "What's that?"

Chase heaved a small sigh. "To forgive himself."


	47. China or US?

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.** **And don't forget to read Ch. 46! :)**

* * *

Three days later, Chase, Hotch and Oliver walked back inside the front entranceway of the estate. Will still needed looking after—his doctors wanted him on better ground in regards to his depressive state—but otherwise both men were in relatively good health. Both JJ and the baby stayed with him.

"Nice to be warm again," Oliver remarked, relishing the heat his brand-new sweater generated. Chase had gone out and bought one, a plain blue cable-knit. Truth be told, it looked rather dapper on him.

"And here I'd have thought the sunshine was the best part about being out of there," his boss said. "Fresh air, lots of light…"

"There's that too. You do realize it's nearly Labor Day?"

"Really?" Chase looked at her phone, which confirmed Oliver's comment. "Damn. Didn't know it was already. We've been here nearly four months."

As the two investigators talked, Hotch made his way to the drawing room. He was fully expecting to be filled in on what had happened in the interrogation of the gardeners.

"Slow going," said Morgan, as soon as everyone welcomed Oliver back and asked about Will. "That one who took Olivia, he's cooperating, but the other two…"

"Not so much," chimed Emily. "Plus it doesn't help that they don't speak English."

Chase looked around the room. "Where's Mo?"

"He went back to D.C. this morning," Reid answered. "Adlington's going up for arraignment today and he wanted to make sure it went well."

"And he didn't take us?" It took a minute for the agents to realize she was teasing.

"Still, we've gotta talk to those gardeners, so…"

"Bring 'em in," Chase said. "One at a time, though."

Morgan picked up the phone on the desk and pushed a button. "Yeah, Han Wei? Could you send in one of the…yeah, the tall one. Okay."

A few minutes later a tall Oriental man was sitting in the middle of the panel, his hands bound and a sullen look across his face.

"**Your name?"** Chase asked.

The man didn't reply.

"**I said, give me your name."**

The gardener remained silent.

"**Fine." **Turning her head, she called out through the drawing room door, **"Han Wei! Please make the arrangements to have this man deported at once."**

"**Deported?!" **

"**Finally, he speaks. Name."**

"**Soo Li."**

"Ask him who hired him," Hotch said.

"**No one. I planned this."**

"**I don't think so,"** Chase retorted. **"We found the money. One of your compatriots has already told us about the foreign man. Now, you will tell us more about him."**

"**I cannot."**

Chase turned her head towards the door again.

"**No! I'll talk!"**

"**Very good. Now, about this man?"**

"**I do not know his name. He came to me, said that I could make enough to leave the gardens if I helped him."**

"**Not a fan of gardening?"**

"**Menial work. I am better than this."**

"Well, you've certainly proved that," Emily remarked, after hearing Chase's translation.

Chase let it pass. **"How?"**

"**The man came to my house, in the village. Said he had a couple of people already, but needed a strong leader. He had heard of me, and thought I might be helpful."**

"**What was the plan?"**

"**We were to take one or two of the Americans."**

"**Specific ones?"**

"**No. Any would have done. One was good, two were better."**

The team fell into a contemplative silence after that. The thought that any one of them could have suffered Will and Oliver's fate…

"Why take the baby?" Rossi asked.

"**The child was not part of the plan, not at first. When the Frenchman had her with him, we decided to take her too."**

"**Yang Chen says that the child was promised to him."**

"**That I do not know. Later on he made it clear that the child was his 'reward,' but he wanted her right away. We could not make that happen."**

"Why the hole?" Reid asked. His teeth chattered just thinking about that dark space. He and Morgan had gone out to get a better look at what Will and Oliver's conditions had been, and the second he hit the concrete floor of the tiny dungeon he began shivering violently. _How could Oliver stand it, with no shirt on?_ he'd wondered, remembering how the man had been found.

"**A convenient place. The barn and house are abandoned."**

"**Was the plan to leave them to die there?"**

The gardener didn't reply.

_"**Was the plan to leave them to die there?"**_

A hefty sigh. **"No. Not at first. The foreign man wanted to speak with the Americans, wanted them to know who had planned their fate. There was something about it…like the foreign man was not the one in charge, but was in charge as far as this went."**

The team nodded. The 'man behind the curtain'.

"**What happened with the baby?"**

"**I do not know. I told Yang Chen that the Americans needed to keep her, to keep **_**them**_** quiet and behaving. Later the foreign man takes over, and I do not know any more."**

Oliver held up a portrait he'd sketched while recuperating. "Is this him? The 'foreign man'?"

The gardener nodded. "Yes."

Chase looked around at the room. "Anything else, guys?"

Seven heads shook. Han Wei was sent for, and Soo Li was placed back behind locked doors.

"Did you speak with the other two?" Chase asked.

"With Yang Chen, we did," Reid said. "Mo helped us with that. Basically he said he'd done it to get the baby, that he wanted to give his wife a child to raise."

"What about that tray that was sent down?" Oliver asked. "He say something about that?"

"Says he sent it. Was concerned that the baby would get sick, and he'd have a child that would die on his hands."

"Not so much caring about us, but about the baby he was gonna get for the trouble," Oliver spat. "Well, at least he cared enough for that."

"I dunno, Oliver," Chase said. "I mean, yeah, he did some pretty despicable things, but if he hadn't done them even for his own selfish reasons, we wouldn't be talking to you now."

"We'd have found a way out of there," her partner said. "Even if it took the rest of my life…"

"Which wouldn't have been long," Rossi interjected. "I saw what you looked like down there—a couple of weeks, and you'd have been a corpse."

Oliver's face fell.

"Hey, don't beat yourself up about it. When we went down there, we saw the marks on the walls," Morgan said. "I'm guessing Will wasn't climbing them looking to get out…"

"No. He had the baby to think about."

"Pretty ingenious, though," Emily mused. "Using the baby as a method of keeping the guys compliant."

"Yeah, real humanitarians, those," Garcia spat. "Next you'll tell me that all the new kidnappers will be trying it."

"Let's hope not." Garcia seconded Emily's sentiment.

"Still, the question remains—do we try them here, or under Chinese law?" Chase said.

The room fell silent as each person thought about that.

"In the end, I'd say that it's up to Oliver and Will," Rossi said finally. "They were the ones most affected by this…"

"I was gonna say the same thing," Chase said. "Ollie?"

Oliver was staring at the floor, his mind deep in thought. "I know what Will will say—he'll want to be fair but want justice done. Me, though…"

"What?"

"Well, part of me would like to see them hang. These people used our lives to help themselves, and put us in a position no person should ever be put into. You don't know what it took to swallow our pride and have to literally _beg_ these people just to see to the simplest of needs. I can't speak for Will, but I'm not an overly proud guy, and it still hurt to have to look at that damned face above us and plead with him for a drop of milk to keep Olivia alive. I mean, my death was one thing, but a _baby_? And they forced Will to do the one thing no parent should _ever _ have to do."

"There's a 'but' at the end of this," Chase said softly. "I can tell."

"Yeah. The 'but' is this: though they acted despicably, if it hadn't been for that one guy, we probably would've never gotten out of there. Someone would've found us, years later, two men and a baby—or what remained of us. Though it was for selfish reasons, that one guy really did save us. Even if he didn't mean to."

The team thought on that a moment. "I spoke with Song Fei yesterday," Emily said, breaking the silence. "She said that Mrs. Yang tried twice to commit suicide."

"Why?" Oliver asked.

"Probably an attempt to restore her honor," Chase said.

"More than that," Emily said. "She's lost all those children, then her husband gives her a baby that he stole, then she learns he disgraced the family honor by committing these crimes against Will and Oliver…"

"That'd do it," Rossi said.

"Yeah," Chase replied softly. "She'll probably keep trying until she succeeds, too, unless someone talks to her." A pair of bright green eyes looked over at Oliver.

"What?"

"Tomorrow I think we should pay a visit. Much as you want bloodlust on Yang Chen and his accomplices, his wife was just as much a victim as you were."

"You think so?" Oliver challenged slightly.

"Yeah. I do."

"Well, what about these others?"

"Again, I think that's up to Oliver and Will," Hotch said. "We've got time."

"Yeah, but not that much," Morgan said. "I don't know about you, but…"

"But what?"

"As much as we'd like to thank Ambassador and Madame Li for their hospitality, we all kind of want to go home," Emily finished. "And go back to work." A few voices chimed in their agreement.

"A couple more days, guys," Chase promised. "Believe me, I want to go home too, but this needs solving first. Plus, Kyle tells me that I've got one hell of a mess to clean up back at the office…damn movers broke my lamp…

The chuckle came from the unlikeliest of places—Oliver. He started chuffing, and then a stream of giggles poured out. Soon the laughter was contagious."

"Not funny, guys," Chase replied. "Took forever to find that thing…"


	48. Oliver's Decision

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.**

* * *

It was raining as Chase and Oliver walked the five miles towards the Yang's small house on the hill. The rain wasn't hard, more 'spitting' than anything else. Oliver kept his head down and said little as the pair drew closer to their destination.

"Oliver," Chase said, her voice firm but not unkind. "It really isn't her fault…"

"I know," her partner said, still focused on the ground in front of him. "It's just…she'd have kept the baby, Chase. I think she'd have never asked the questions she had to face once Mo and those others arrived. So what if the baby 'mysteriously' appeared? I don't think she'd have cared."

"Probably not," Chase agreed. "Still, once confronted with the truth, she _did_ give the child back."

"My guess is, not willingly."

Chase now focused on the ground as well. "No. She didn't."

The pair stood in front of the small gray door, and Chase tapped once on it. A familiar face appeared as the barrier opened, and admitted them.

"My friend, she is not well," Song Fei said as Chase asked about Yang Linshou's condition. "She suffers from heartsickness, Miss Charlotte. And shame, deep shame over what happened to you and the Frenchman, Mr. Oliver."

"We heard she tried to commit suicide."

"Yes. Twice. She still follows the old customs."

Oliver looked around at the tiny living space. The whole house had five rooms to it, and the largest of them could easily fit in Oliver's kitchen back home. There were boxes half-packed, with some dishes and other articles wrapped in old paper lying on the table and parts of the wooden floor. Looking into the tiny kitchen, he quickly noticed that the cupboards were bare.

"My friend, she was told she could start over," Song Fei explained, mostly for Oliver's benefit. "Her husband, he lied. Told her there was a new job, a new house waiting for them far away. He took the sparrow's child."

"Sparrow?"

"I'll tell you later," Chase said. She sat down in one of the living room chairs, motioning Oliver to do the same. Song Fei pulled up a kitchen chair and joined them. "Linshou…she is not evil, not like those men…"

"But she did take the baby," Oliver said.

"She did not know, Mr. Oliver. The foreign man, he tell her the baby was his to give away. She did not know."

Just then there were small shuffles coming from the kitchen tile. In the small entranceway to the living room stood a thin, haggard looking figure, clutching the sides of a patched robe together.

"**Song Fei, who is this?" **she asked.

"**My name is Charlotte," **Chase replied, using the woman's tongue. **"This is Oliver. He was one of the men your husband and the foreign man kidnapped."**

The little woman's eyes widened in shock and fear. **"I am so sorry," ** she said quickly, hurriedly bowing towards Oliver. **I am so sorry…I did not know…I did not know…."**

"It's okay," Oliver said, after he heard the translation. "I came to hear what you _do_ know about what happened, Mrs. Yang."

"**But why? My husband, he is a liar and a thief. He brings great shame to our family, and to…"**

"**Madame Yang, we have reason to believe that your husband may have actually **_**helped **_**Oliver and the Frenchman to survive," **Chase said.** "This interests us a great deal, as such actions could prove to help him."**

"**Help him? Why would…"**

"**Currently the Americans have the option of having your husband and his accomplices deported and tried in China. We are questioning whether your husband should be punished in that manner." **Chase's eyes tried to reassure the woman that there was some hope to restore the 'lost honor' that Yang Linshou was so desperate to uphold.

"**You think Chen is innocent? He is not, I assure you. He let me take that child…that beautiful child…" **Yang Linshou began to sway where she stood, and Song Fei quickly placed her in the chair the younger woman had occupied. **"Is she all right, the little lark?"**

"**Yes, ma'am. She is with her parents now. She is well."**

"**Praise Buddha for that!"**

"**Madame Yang, about what happened…"**

"Did you give the baby back?" Oliver interjected quickly. "

"**Once I knew what had happened, yes. Though I did not want to."**

"What happened to your other children?"

A sad look washed instantly over the woman's face. **"Two died in miscarriage," **she replied. **"Our son, he died of crib death. I watched him so close, but still he is taken from us."**

"They said you got medical help for Olivia…"

"**The little lark had a fever. I thought of my son, and did not want that to happen again. We hurried to Mother Ling, so she could give us medicine. They gave it, free of charge."**

"**Madame Yang, Song Fei tells us you've tried to commit suicide." **Chase looked expectantly at the woman, hoping she would share.

"**Yes. What my husband has done, it is shameful. He has brought great dishonor to both his family, and to mine. Someone must right that, to restore our good names…"**

"Ma'am, he will be punished for his crimes," Oliver said. "But I don't think you should have to as well."

"**But I must. Unless he does the right thing."**

"Which is?"

"**He knows what that would be."**

"You know in this country that suicide is a crime, ma'am?"

Yang Linshou's eyes widened. Turning to Song Fei, she asked, **"Is this true?"**

"**It is," **Chase said. **"But one that is treated, not punished, if the attempt is unsuccessful. Madame Yang, I believe that your husband tried to do the right thing. He did, however, go about it in entirely the wrong way. When we questioned him, he said he only wanted to make you happy; to give you the one thing he couldn't give you himself."**

At this confession Yang Linshou broke into tears. **"I am so ashamed. He does this, for me he says? And yet he nearly killed you…"**

"Ma'am, he made sure that Olivia was taken care of, and helped us in the process," Oliver said, his doubts about the woman vanished. "Though his actions were wrong, I do not think he has completely lost his honor."

"**You do not?" **A pair of polished brown eyes stared intently at Oliver in disbelief.

"No, I don't," he said finally. "And I think you've helped me come to a decision. Thank you, Mrs. Yang." The young man smiled slightly, more out of pity than mirth. As Yang Linshou and Song Fei looked on in disbelief, Oliver picked himself out and stepped outside. Chase followed him.

"What's going on, Oliver?"

"You'll see," the man said. He remained silent all the way back to the estate.

* * *

"Yang Chen should be tried here," Oliver said that night at dinner. The announcement caused a couple of chopsticks to drop, and Chase was certain that JJ and Will were about to choke on their food.

"What brought you to that conclusion?" Rossi asked.

"I had an interesting conversation with his wife today," Oliver said. "Poor woman's been trying to pay for his crime, and he put her in the dark as much as we were in that hole."

"Well, dark though it was, he still put us there," Will countered. "And he had help."

"Yeah, Will, but think about it. That stuff we got while we were down there? I'd bet my life Yang Chen put it down there."

"Sure, for Olivia," JJ said.

"That too. I'm not saying there was an ulterior motive involved—there was," Oliver agreed. "But without it, we'd have fared a lot worse."

"This is true," Reid pointed out. "Five days with no food? We'd have found you in worse shape than we did."

"Plus, Mrs. Yang tells me that as soon as the baby needed something, he wasn't hesitant in getting it—even if it meant risking someone finding out what he'd done."

"I don't…" Will said, trying to keep up.

"There's only two Chinese doctors in the village," Chase explained. "And they're married. You wake one up, both are up, and we all know who the midwife was when Olivia was born."

"That lady…Mother Ling, I think her name was," Emily said, recalling.

"Yep."

"So you're saying he took her to the Chinese doctor, even though there's an American doctor he could have gone to and no one would have been the wiser?" Hotch asked.

"Yes."

"But why go to the Chinese doctor if you know you might be found out?" Morgan wondered.

"Yang Chen and his wife don't speak English. It was go there, or get no help at all."

"He could have let her die," JJ said, shuddering at the thought.

"But he didn't. I mean, aside from the fact that his wife wouldn't let him do such a thing, I really don't think he's capable of killing people—especially a baby." Oliver said.

"And what about the other two?" Hotch asked.

"I dunno," Oliver said. "I just can't see Yang Chen being put to death."

"But he could serve a nice long prison sentence here," Mo said, hurrying in and making his apologies. "Three counts of kidnapping, child endangerment, accomplice to attempted murder…he'll be seeing concrete walls for a long, long time."

"Sounds good to me," Oliver said. "What about you, Will?"

Will thought on it a long while. "Killing people isn't something I do," he said finally. "Nor should someone else do it for me. I agree with Oliver. Let him rot in his own hole. The others too."

Mo nodded his head once. "The rest of you agree?"

One by one, each person at that table gave a sign of approval.

"We've been locked up for months," Garcia noted. "Now I think it's time someone else should be filling in our spots, yeah?"

"I can have the paperwork done by tomorrow," the lawyer noted, twiddling a piece of sweet and sour pork between his chopsticks.

"What about Adlington?" Chase said. "Please, Mo, tell me he sang like a canary…"

"Oh, he did. Josh made tapes." The lawyer held out a few DVD's full of information. "He, ah, let me borrow them so I could prepare…"

"I'm getting the popcorn," Garcia said, hurrying towards the kitchen.


	49. Home Sweet Home, Sort Of

**Please see disclaimers in Ch. 1.

* * *

**

It was over. The trials were pending on the Chinese gardeners, and it seemed certain—at least to Mo and Hotch, anyway—that the three would be seeing the inside of concrete walls for a long, long time.

"Wonder if they'll be housed in Philadelphia," Morgan mused.

"Not sure," Reid said. "Though I hear the isolation block over there's got a new coat of paint…"

"Put on by the best," Morgan chuckled thinly. "Adlington will certainly be enjoying it."

The team had made sure to be present at Adlington's sentencing. With the overwhelming evidence Josh had over him (much of which had been throughly enjoyed by both teams on tape at the embassy), the ambitious little prick had found it 'prudent' to plead guilty to a plethora of counts, none the least of which was seven counts of conspiracy for trying to frame the team as well as several counts of terrorism.

"Pompous ass," Josh had said as he sat next to Emily in the courtroom gallery. "I 'ave the pleasure of saying thees—'e will not be bothering anyone else, not that ees eemportant anyhow."

"I'll second that," the woman replied. "I'm just glad it's over." Privately, Emily wished he'd have 'enticed' Adlington a little more during the interrogation in Adlington's apartment. She'd never gotten a glimpse of who the other man was that had been helping Josh then, but there was a part of her that almost didn't want to know.

JJ and Will were both on 'maternity leave'. Hotch had seen fit to give the new mother some _real_ time to spend with her daughter, and not just time that was to be spent hiding from various forms of law enforcement.

"Her room's not even finished," Will lamented. "I was gonna start painting it, but then…"

"And you won't be painting it now," piped Garcia, her hair tied up in a messy bun on top of her head. "We've got painters for that."

"Garcia, you really don't have to…"

"Uh-unh. _You_ sit. _We'll _paint." Garcia beckoned towards Morgan, Emily and Reid, the latter of which looked thoroughly confused as to how to hold a giant paint roller.

"Hey, any more brushes?" a cheerful voice said, floating up towards the nursery window. "Otherwise I brought food to the wrong house…"

JJ looked outside the window to find Chase, Oliver and Kyle standing outside the condo that she and Will were sharing. Beside them two men were piling steaming boxes onto dolly carts and walking towards the door.

"What's all this?" she asked.

"Oh, this. Well, seeing as Cam and Joe have lost a ton of money to me last night at euchre, they agreed to 'do me a favor.' Garicia mentioned something about painting a room, and, well, they jumped at the chance." Chase's face wore that mysterious half-smile she wore when she was trying to be particularly cagey.

"I'd, uh, open the door, JJ," Oliver called up. "They brought enough food for a military base…"

Emily hurried downstairs to see the giant truck parked outside and the sight of their friends laden down with box after box of edibles. Pulling Chase to one side after the younger woman sat down a tray of cream puffs, she whispered, "Did you really beat them at cards?"

"Nah," Chase replied. "But you tell JJ that they _wanted _ to bring the food because there is absolutely _no_ chore that doesn't require food, and she'd feel obliged. Besides, she's got enough on her hands, yeah?" Chase pointed a finger upwards towards the sounds of two men's voices calling back and forth.

"Morgan, will you cut it out with the flying paint?"

"Hey, you weren't complaining in Philadelphia."

"Yeah, but there was only one color involved then. There's _two _here. I'm sure JJ doesn't want purple spots all over a blue room…"

"Maybe she does."

"Jackson Pollack as baby decorator?"

A pause. "Kid, you know Pollack?"

"Only artist I've found that makes sense."

"Come on," Oliver said to the two women standing in the kitchen. "Someone's gotta help break up Siskel and Ebert in there before they kill each other with paint and someone's gotta hold this door for Cam and Joe. Which is it?"

Emily looked at Chase. Chase looked at Emily.

"I'll flip you for the door," they both said in unison.

* * *

**And that's it. The end. It's been a crazy, crazy ride, but now thing should be back to normal for the teams...or, is it? Thanks to all who read, reviewed, and pushed me to incorporate more ideas--at over 95,000 words, I dare say there was a lot to be said! :)**


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